


Silence Looks Good on You

by BADAAX



Series: Silence Looks Good On You [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Military AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BADAAX/pseuds/BADAAX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Hollis is a military veteran suffering from post traumatic stress disorder, whose symptoms are only getting worse. When conventional treatments do little to help, her friends suggest an alternative solution at the infamous Room 307. A pleasure house and alternative therapy centre run by the illusive Master, Carmilla Karnstein. For Laura following orders has always been easy, but her new master Carmilla demands a different kind of submission altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Walk the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, and welcome to the first chapter in a series centred around a military veteran Laura and a psychosexual therapist Carmilla. 
> 
> I just want to take this opportunity to say that this story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.
> 
> TW: PTSD, Military Situations, Sexual Situations

You’re desperate. Truly, utterly and hopelessly desperate. 

But also terrified. So terrified that it steals your breath and fills your lungs with an anxious weight. You served two tours in Afghanistan, faced the enemy and survived but now you’re scared just to go to therapy. When did you lose your bravery, when did you decide that it was acceptable to give up? 

But it’s the nightmares, they’ve made you desperate and you’re done trying to live this way. Talking about it didn’t work, the diaries you kept, the vlogging, the gym sessions. You refuse to go back on the pills because they only make you worse, literally nothing has helped. So yeah you’re pretty fucking desperate. 

LaFontaine was the one who introduced you to your next potential therapist. If therapist is the right word, it doesn’t feel right, it implies some sort of therapy actually happens but that’s not what this is about. Your PTSD never leaves, it just clutches to you and fills your every waking moment with dread. You can’t function, not like a human anymore, you feel more animal than woman. 

You know other soldiers who’ve got it bad, it’s the flashes, the noises, the hot nights and the fear that never quite seems to go away. You see faces, the faces of those that didn’t make it back, your leg aches sometimes when the temperature changes and it’s only another reminder of your duty and how bad it’s messed you up since then. 

But you’re young, you want a future, you can’t just say fuck it and hope for the best. You need this, you need to get out of your own head. It’s the control though, you can’t lose it, but this therapy is supposed to change this, take your fears and make them real so that you can learn to face them again. So you can stop seeing the enemy every time you leave the house. 

Room 307, it’s a stupid name, a name that implies everything it promises and it makes your skin prickle every time you swipe your thumb over the engraved calling card LaF gave you. How they know about this place you don’t even want to ask, but they and Perry are getting as desperate as you are. The last dinner you had at their flat nudges its way once more into the forefront of your mind. 

You hadn’t wanted to go, but it had been months since you’d seen everyone all together in one room. Danny and Kirsch, SJ and Natalie, everyone was there. It had all been going so well, it was great to see old friends again, especially friends who were relieved to know you hadn't died. But maybe a part of you would have preferred it that way, it's better than living this hell now. 

It started off fine, dinner was as chaotic and ridiculous as you could remember but then it all went wrong somewhere around dessert. LaF and Perry had been experimenting in the kitchen. Laf had being going all Heston Blumenthal on their food and was using liquid nitrogen on everything. They'd brought out homemade ice cream, dry ice throwing cold smoke everywhere. You laughed along with everyone else until the smoke rose over the edge of the table, fell to the floor and covered your feet. 

You'd flashed right there in the middle of the room, gunfire filling your ears, smoke clouding your vision. Phantom pain of that IED, the one that killed half your unit and left you pinned down by enemy fire, raced it's way up your leg. You'd gasped with the memory, acting out the scene just like that day all those months ago. 

You'd come back to the world slowly and in your disorientated state you were aware of your friends voicing their concern. You'd wedged yourself between the sofa and the wall, hands cradling your leg, which you could have sworn was covered in blood and still infused with shrapnel. But it wasn't, only the scars remained and with it brought a fresh wave of shame that you'd survived and everyone else hadn't. 

You'd destroyed half of Perry and LaF's living room in your mental fight. Kirsh had a split lip and Danny need two stiches to the cut above her eye your hands had inflicted on her. You'd told yourself that day that you needed more help. It took another month to finally work up the courage to do something about it. 

So here you are, waiting in the small lounge that constitutes as the lobby of the quaint little house in the prissy little suburb that is Room 307. Not for the first time you wonder why you are here, but the itch in your veins and the way you check corners in every room you are in is starting to get old. Is it normal to look at people and expect them to pull a weapon, is it normal to be disappointed when they don’t? 

"Miss Hollis," A pleasant voice says, calling your name and pulling you from the dark space your mind was once more leading. You stand stiffly, favouring your left leg and throwing what you hope is a smile onto your face. The platinum blonde haired secretary’s smile grows a little wider at your blatant attempt at normalcy. There is nothing normal about this. 

"The Master will see you now," She says, blue eyes blinking mischievously. You roll your own eyes in response, _master_ seriously? This day just keeps getting better and better. But you're desperate and willing to try anything and you were promised results. Besides what do you have to lose? If it's awful you walk out and never come back. You go back to conventional. You go back to hell. 

You follow behind the receptionist, surreptitiously not checking out her ass, because you don't like to objectify women, but you can at least acknowledge that she must run or something because it's very nice. A second later this becomes irrelevant because she has led you to a door, which is as brown and mundane as all the others but there is power here, and your adrenaline is spiking and you wish you had your gun back because at least that was something you could control. 

The blonde directs you in and using every ounce of courage you no longer posses you step inside, shoulders straight back and your hands held to attention. It’s not a large room, a woman, the master obviously, sits in the middle of a chaise longue placed against the wall, and a doorway leads to the right. The décor is tasteful and opulent to the point that you feel uncomfortably out of place. Perhaps that is the point? 

Your first thought, after you've checked your corners and exits of course, is that the master is very beautiful. Exceptionally beautiful in fact and just a little bit more of you looses its tension to acknowledge that fact. 

Her cheekbones must have been carved from marble and her jaw, her jaw you can see yourself biting and worshipping because it is an entity all on it's own. Her painted lips twitch into a smirk, dark eyebrows arching at your obvious interest. You flush, it's painful and embarrassing but you feel like an awkward teenager again, not like a veteran, not like someone who has taken life for their country. 

"Welcome Miss Hollis, do take a seat," she says in a voice every inch as sultry as you had quickly imagined in your head. She indicates to the spot on her left, if you take it, you will be flush against her, it’s not a large seat. You swallow, hard, but your hands find each other behind your back and you have enough grit left in you to admit that you’re still not sure you want to stay. The card in your pocket weighs you down and you see the name Carmilla Karnstein imprinted in your minds eye. She is something, her presence weightier still. But you are not here to play her games, at least, not yet anyway. 

"No thank you, I'd rather stand Miss Karnstein," You say stiffly, as stiffly as your shoulders and your back are set. Her smirk widens ever so slightly and your skin prickles at the sight. You know a thing or too about predators and right now you're caught in her sights feeling like you're her next meal. Maybe that is what you are, you're certainly going to be paying her enough. 

"Very well, we both know why you are here sweetheart. You need help with a problem and it just so happens that I can provide that help for you," She says almost briskly, a voice more suited for business than the bedroom, your eyes can't help but flick to the closed door on your right, it must contain the bed, that is what this place is for after all. "Though I must say, I didn't expect you to be so adorable, cupcake. I'm going to enjoy this," She adds lowering her eyelids and trailing the length of you. 

You shiver again, and something not unfamiliar but still seldom felt prickles along your insides. A pooling desire that maybe something interesting will happen. An itch scratched. You have never been one to fuck away your problems, but this isn’t about that. She promised you over a few uncomfortable emails that she is not a prostitute, that this is not a brothel. This is a house of pleasure, an alternative therapy centre that focuses on using carnal desire and ultimately control to unlock the fears inside of you. You have a lot of fears and intimacy with this woman is quickly becoming one of them. This is not about sex, you no that, so why does it feel like you're about to be devoured? Maybe this was a bad idea?

But then a door bangs somewhere down a corridor and suddenly your cool restraint is gone and your fighting to focus and remind yourself that that bang wasn't an improvised device, it was simply a door closing. 

You close your eyes and breathe deep, it does little to settle your nerves. Cool hands trace your face and you jerk away from the touch instinctively, eyelids snapping open. She's there, the master, dark eyes watching you intently and if you thought she was beautiful from across the room she's something else entirely up close. Carmilla Karnstein, she’s promised you help, promised to use your body and her body to get rid of you fear. If only you can submit to her long enough to let her work. 

"Yes, I can see the problem cutie," She tells you and although the nicknames are starting to get on your nerves, there's something endearing about them and you need that right now, something sweet to get you by. 

"You know why you are here, from this moment on you will address me only as Master," she orders now and it feels normal? It feels like it should be, but you still want to fight this, to fight what you think is attraction but could be just lust and you know it's just a job to her, but to you it's the promise of hope and you need that right now. 

"I'm still not sure I want to stay," you say almost petulantly and her smirk erases itself, becoming a smoulder that sets your nerves on fire. You raise your chin and defy her, deny her an easy victory. She nods at your admission and leaves your side, swirling hips carrying her across the room and your mouth goes dry at the sight. This woman is a master of her art and she's showing you without words without actions what Room 307 could be for you. A way out. 

She sits down, folds one leg over the other and stretches her arms across the back of the expensive looking couch she had been sitting on before.  
"No, but you will stay, because only I can promise you a cure. You want to leave the battlefield behind, but that is a childish hope. The war never goes away, but you can make it a new one. You just need a new fight. You will stay, trust me on that," She says and your mouth instantly opens to foolishly contradict her. She cuts you off with an order, one that is directed just as your superiors used to direct you. 

"Take of your clothes." 

You hesitate only slightly before muscle memory at obeying kicks in. You slowly remove your jacket, there is nothing sensual about it because you can't feel your fingers and your face feels numb. She watches you the whole time, oozing pure sex and it makes you wet and you don't understand how that can happen so quickly. But then you tell yourself it's been months and you know this is her job. So you strip in the middle of an auspiciously decorated room, not bothering with preserving modesty because you know that's not what you came here for. 

She stands when you finish, trailing eyes over your body and surprisingly it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. You shiver lightly, but it's not just from the cold it's from the heat in her gaze and the promise in her sly smile. 

"Beautiful," She says and you flush once more, but this time with pride. You doubt her words, you're too small, toned but almost too much you've had a lot of free time and you were a soldier. Your hair is flat and although you left it down, it hangs a little unsurely around your face and sweaty strands stick to the back of your neck. She makes you nervous and it shows. She said you were beautiful and although you are inclined not to believe her she said it with such conviction that you almost want to. 

She crosses the distance to you again and her cool fingers touch your flesh, eliciting more shivers as smooth skin strokes yours.  
"Is this were you were hit?" She asks touching at some of the scars visible on your left leg, she knows your history, it was in the questionnaire she had you fill in before she would even consider seeing you. Evidently she did her homework. You nod, because you don’t trust your voice and her eyes soften ever so slightly. 

"I think this is the most beautiful thing of all, cupcake," and the sincerity in her voice makes you have no choice but to believe her. She leaves her fingers there, trailing along the sensitive scars and watching you tremble. You are almost embarrassingly wet now and she loves every minute of it. Another door bangs and although you flinch, for the first time in months you don't feel panic creep in on your insides. Instead your master's hand curls around your wrist and you feel compelled to follow her when she leads you into the room behind the once closed door. 

"Will you submit to me?" She asks and your response is to lean forward and press your lips against hers. They are as soft and as warm as you had imagined them to be. She smiles against your mouth and you know this is a freebie because she won't give you another chance to catch her off guard. You let her lead you to the bed in the middle of the room and you feel your anxiety slowly fade away. Maybe this is what you needed, maybe all you need was her. 

She kisses you and chains you to the bed. She dominates you with controlled violence and it’s everything you needed and more. You fear the lack of control but with her it’s heady and intoxicating. When you come it’s with a gasp that sounds like her name and in that moment everything changes. She holds you when it’s done and for the first time in months you can breathe, and it’s easy, she makes it easy and you cling to her tighter still. It makes your heart swell when she doesn't pull away, but lets you pull her close. Maybe this was right after all, because when it feels this good, it can’t be wrong.


	2. Our Eyes Fighting the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all once again! Here is another chapter of this story, which is slowly but surely getting away from me. Thanks for all the Kudos and Comments they are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Just a quick reminder that this story contains scenes of an explicit sexual nature and reader discretion is advised. 
> 
> Once again I just want to take this opportunity to say that this story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.
> 
> TW: PTSD, Military Situations, Explicit Sexual Situations

“So…how long have you been doing this?” You ask, old investigative habits kicking in. The solid mass in the bed beside you moves, a soft groan of frustration leaving their lips. Warm hands slide down the bare skin of your arms and you allow yourself to enjoy the feeling. It’s foreign but it feels right somehow, feels like it’s holding you together in ways you’ve been missing since you’ve come home.

You allow yourself to lean further into the heat behind you, naked breasts pressing into your back, nipples that had been in your mouth only a few short moments ago, grazing across your shoulder blades and your spine.

“Oh please don’t tell me you’re one of those people,” The woman holding you sighs, her voice low and soft against the back of your neck. The fingers on your arms move, one hand coming to rest against your abdomen, the other settling itself gently upon the worst of your scars on your left hip.

“What people?” You hear yourself murmur; surprised you could answer at all when so much of you is occupied by the hands on your skin. Your _master_ laughs, that short low growl you’ve gotten used to even though this is technically only your second session with her.

“Pillow talk people,” She says lips tugging gently at your earlobe and you’re almost embarrassed by how violently your body shudders at the feel of teeth scraping your skin. She has a way of making the simple things seem monumental.

“Oh, well that’s okay, I get that it’s weird. I mean you’re technically my therapist, and I know we’re not really in the talking kind of therapy but I thought we could. But now that I think about it, it’s weird that we would. It is weird isn’t it?” You ramble, cursing your runaway mouth and your inability to stop it at times.

“It’s not weird cupcake. If you want to talk we can talk. I want you to feel comfortable here, with me and with this situation. I know you’re out of your comfort zone, that’s obviously the point, but I’ll do what I can to make the process easier,” Carmilla says, and in this moment you find it too hard to think of her as your master, because it’s a strange concept and right now she seems so human, so touchable.

You roll over in her embrace, resting your head on the pillow beside hers, eyes watching hers looking for the same intensity that had been there when she’d been pushing you over the edge. They burnt then, bright and hot, but now they’re smoldering like warm coals, sated and sleepy. You want to think they look as happy and as content as you feel.  

But that’s stupid, this is just a job for her and she’s very, very good at it. You’re here for help; you chant it to yourself because you can’t afford to feel this helpless anymore. Ironic really that you’re finding strength in making yourself vulnerable. But she’s so good at pushing you, at testing the boundaries. It’s like cognitive therapy, she’s all touch and control and it’s helping you with yours. You’ve seen the progress after just 2 sessions. But you’ve never felt this way with anyone before and it’s almost too much to think about. Is the connection mutual or is that just what she wants you to feel? It’s better not to think about.

“I’ve been a therapist for a few years, most of my clientele suffer from sexual disorders so the old conventional works for them. You should count yourself lucky cutie, not everyone gets the full treatment,” She smirks and you think it’s beautiful. But then again, you think there’s nothing she could do that you wouldn’t think is beautiful. Even when she’s restrained you on her bed you still think she’s breathtaking.

“I guess I should thank you then Master,” You say with a small smile, and her hands tighten ever so on your skin. Her flesh is hot and burns against yours and your body aches deliciously from her therapy but it is her face that holds you breathless.

“During pillow talk you don’t have to call me master. I want this process to be as comfortable for you as possible, normally I don’t do personal. But if it’s something that works for you, something that you need, then we’ll incorporate it into our routine,” She tells you clinically and for a second you see the therapist and not the sex goddess. This is alternative therapy, it’s easy to forget that, it’s easy to forget that you need it.

“Okay, well then, thanks Carm,” You say with a smile and the muscles in her jaw clench ever so, and for a second you think you’ve over stepped your boundaries. That second stretches into much longer as she pulls away from you and the cold left in her wake is almost visceral.

“Sadly time’s up sweetie, I’ll see you back here for your session next week,” She says, before pulling on her discarded silk robe and leaving the room in a rush of jasmine and the faint lingering smell of sex. You watch her retreating form with confusion and not for the first time since you’ve met her you wonder what you’ve done wrong.

But it’s not really your fault you tell yourself, you’ve never been in a relationship(?) like this before. You’ve never submitted to someone, you’ve never had a dom to take you in to that submission. It’s strange and it’s weird and Carmilla is like no one you’ve ever met before, and she’s so mysterious and so beautiful that she arouses you and annoys you in equal measure.

It’s the weirdest feeling wanting to please someone so whole-heartedly and the rational part in your brain says that it’s not normal to feel this way after just two three hour sessions. But those six hours spent with her hands, and her toys, and her whole body devouring yours has been revolutionary in so many ways. It’s liberating in the most ironic of ways, the restraint she puts you under frees you and you can see why she’s so good at her job. You can’t worry about the past and the things that have been because in the here and now, she’s everywhere and you need all of your sanity to process that.

You struggle out of the voluptuous bed sheets, a soft groan of pain leaving you. Your body aches in ways you’ve never felt before and you dream fondly of your bath back home and the ointment Carmilla recommended you get. She tries not to mark you so badly, and you’re grateful for that. You have enough scars without this latest exploit but a small dark part of you purrs happily at the sight of the red lines her whips left behind. It honest to Hogwarts purrs.

If that isn’t messed up then you don’t know what is.

You make your way quickly into the adjoining room, pulling on your discarded clothes, shaking fingers redoing the buttons on your shirt. You leave the house with a nod in the direction of Elsie, the secretary/receptionist/all round nice person sitting by the front door. Your aviators cover your eyes against a hot summer sun and you know if you close your eyelids you’ll still remember what it feels like to have burning sand whip across your face as the desert home you’re stationed in pulls more aching sweat from your skin.

You let out a sigh instead and glance back at the house, for a second you swear you see the blinds on the second story window flutter as dark eyes watch you ever so carefully. But when you blink and look back the window is empty and you think it must have only been wishful thinking. The way the hair on the back of your neck pricks as you walk away, tells you though, that you might not be as crazy as you think.

***

You meet Danny, LaF, and Perry at the gym on the morning after your second session. You feel good today. You didn’t dream last night, the first time you’ve slept right through in a month and it’s amazing what the absence of fear and anxiety can do for your mood. You even indulge in a cookie and a hot chocolate for breakfast, a favorite past time of yours, before you decided to enlist that is.

It felt good though, being normal. You even managed to flirt a little with the barista who made your drink. She wasn’t your type but you’re still a healthy bloodied female and it felt good just having the option again. You think today is going to be a turning point for you. But then you meet your friends at the gym and the pipe dream sort of disappears down the drain.

“Damn Hollis, Karnstein must be good. I’ve never seen you so relaxed,” LaF jokes with an easy smile, when they see you. You respond with a roll of your eyes but you can’t help the tug you feel at your lips. They do have something of a point. Perry shushes them, curly red hair bobbing frantically as she blusters.

“You know we’ve just all been worried about you Laura. Carmilla has a very good reputation at being able to help people,” Perry says and once again you wonder how her and LaF even know about Carmilla. But if they aren’t offering the answers, the journalist in you will have to be content with only speculating, you sure as Galafrey aren’t going to ask.

“Yeah well we know L isn’t just going there for the therapy. Is she really a total dom?” LaFontaine asks and you know you won’t be answering that question. It is wildly inappropriate and also completely 100% true. You always considered yourself a 50/50 kind of girl. Sometimes bottom, sometimes top, but with her it’s so far bottom it’s the South Pole. And you like it. You tell yourself not to, but when have you ever listened?

“I am not dignifying that with a response,” You mutter under your breath, closing your locker door with a smart snap. You pull your hair back into a rough ponytail and the group of redheads gather round, yoga pants and baggy shirts the outfit of the day.

“I don’t like this Laura,” Danny says, teeth tugging at her lip. You used to find it endearing, back in the day, her over protectiveness that is. But it stopped being fun and became more of a burden. It was hard enough coming home to listen to your dad worry never mind listen to your potential love interest. You both settled on just being friends, and you never need to wonder what could have been. Besides Danny’s with Kirsch now, it’s a weird pairing but somehow it works for them. You’re happy their happy, but it doesn't mean she doesn't over worry about you still.

“It’s helping guys,” You say, leading the way out of the changing rooms and into the gym proper. It’s quiet at this time of day, almost empty apart from the two jocks pruning themselves near the weights. You laugh inwardly and mentally scold yourself for being mean. It’s not their fault you can probably bench press more than them and you’re definitely fitter. Looking fit and being fit are too very, very different things. “At least I think it is helping,” You add, eyebrows creasing. You step onto the nearest treadmill, LaF joining you on the one beside yours, Perry and Danny opting for the cross trainers instead.

“Well that’s good Laura, you know we only want you to be happy,” Perry smiles, but it’s a little forced. You know in their world happy and normal and better are all the same word. You didn’t ask to be unmade, but you were and now you’re having difficulty putting the pieces back together. If being fucked into submission bends you back in to shape then who are you to disagree. It was desperation that drove you this far in the first place.

Silence falls as you drop into a steady rhythm, feet pounding on the gripped track of the treadmill. You like running, you don’t need a destination, you just like the feeling of your feet against the ground, the ache in your calves and your thighs, the stress in your lungs. It reminds you that you’re alive and it’s easy to feel dead when the world around you is grey.

It comes out of nowhere then, when suddenly you’re not running anymore, but you’re screaming out in pain and the world is convalescing into a point so dark and so narrow it crushes you. The guys at the free-weights drop a dumbbell and the resulting bang sounds so like an improvised device that you have no choice but to regress back inside of your self.

“Laura! Laura snap out of it!” It’s Danny’s frantic shouting and the cold hands on your face and the wet cloth on the back on your neck that brings you back to the world. Shame clutches at your insides and you taste blood, teeth worrying at your lips.

You open your eyes and you’re right surprised to see that you’re on your back, the bright lights of the gym blinding you. Danny is the first person you see, LaFontaine and Perry hanging anxiously over her shoulder.

“Did I hurt anyone?” You croak and you hate that there is a scenario that warrants your need to ask such a question. Danny shakes her head no and you thank the universe for small mercies.

“You just had us all freaked out, I thought you said it was getting better,” She says harshly and although you know its fear talking, fear for you, her words still sting. You push her away as you sit up, you don’t need her hovering anymore. LaF crouches by your side, their fingers wrapped around your knee. You look down as the sting finally hits you, blood coating their fingers from the nasty looking gash on the top of your kneecap.

Great, you think somewhat dryly, another scar on an already messed up leg, you’ve also ruined your favorite pair of gym pants. You hear Perry talking in the distance, assuring the staff probably that you’re okay, just a little bit crazy, no biggie. You reach out to brush your fingers over the tops of LaF’s and their smile is enough to ground you.

They push your buttons sometimes but they get it, they get that you’re not okay and that it’s going to take time. They, are the only one you let help you to your feet. Perry drives you to the ER, two stiches and a bandage later and you’re back at home, letting Danny prop your leg up and provide your swollen joint with ice.

Then they all leave, your quiet apartment a sanctuary, you need time to think, to process. You love your friends, and you’re so grateful, but you’re ashamed that they have to keep seeing you this way. You debate calling Room 307, but you don't. You don’t want Carmilla to know how badly you screwed up today, she keeps telling you to assess situations before you put yourself in them. You didn’t do it and now you’re suffering in more ways than one.

So you say nothing, instead you update your blog, a sort of chronicle of your struggles with PTSD and your continued attempts at dealing with it. You haven’t mentioned Room 307 or Carmilla. There are just some things you’re not ready for the world to know yet. Your father reads this blog for Pete’s sake!

You spend the rest of the week, icing your knee and working through the pain. You run, you write for your blog and keep up to date with your freelance journalist work. It’s not much but it’s life.

***

You approach Room 307 that afternoon with some trepidation. Carmilla always has you come late on a Wednesday evening. You’re her last appointment, sweet talking Elsie gave you enough information that you were able to piece together why. Carmilla wasn’t lying when she said that she mostly stuck to convectional. As far as Elsie’s aware you’re currently the only patient on her books that she’s using her other trademarked skills for. But her therapy and her dom/sub relationships aren’t usually mixed. She probably has other subs, and you’re not sure how you feel about that.

You know enough about the BDSM world from the Snape/Ron fanfics you’ve read that the way Carmilla treats you is less like a patient and definitely more like a sub. You discussed the nature of what you needed at length before you even met her. But it’s strange for you, you’ve never been a sub before, you’ve never even done any light bondage before but Carmilla makes it so easy.

The anticipation in your bones and the fluttering in your heart are good enough indicators that your body agrees. You think, you think you’re okay with this though. If the relationship became less therapist and more dominatrix you’d be okay with that too. Either way she’s helping and although the dreams are back and you’ve flashed twice since the incident in the gym you think it’s going to get better. Hope is a powerful weapon and it's the only one you have in the absence of a gun.

Elsie isn’t there when you arrive, a small spot of unease that ruffles your routine. You’re used to her just being there, greeting you with a smile and the offer of a cup of tea. You tug a little unsurely at the bottom of the grey hoodie you wear before you spot the post it on her desk, it’s bright pink and bordered with hearts.

_The Master says go on up to the room._

Nine words, nine simple words and they make your insides twist in delicious agony. You slowly cross the room and make the short trip to that innocent looking brown door that promises more than safety. It promises a danger and the danger is what you need, it's a way to make new kinds of adrenaline pound in your veins instead of the old rush, which you just can’t seem to let go off.

You rap your knuckles against the wood, and the low bark of enter that responds to your unspoken question is enough to make your lips smile and your heart float just a little bit higher out your boots.

Carmilla is waiting as always, wearing a lovely red silk robe, unlaced at the front and baring the ludicrously expensive looking underwear she has on underneath. Expensive or not, it still makes your mouth go dry. It highlights her firm breasts, her toned stomach and her simple curves. In an ideal world Carmilla Karnstein is the exact kind of woman you could only have dreamt about. She’s just too otherworldly, she’s beautiful, like a Greek goddess and that makes you ache in ways that you didn’t think possible.

“Hello Master,” you say, knowing she hates when you speak out of turn but you enjoy the challenge you present her. The way her dark eyes soften when you do it says she likes it too. But today there is nothing soft about her. She’s too engrossed in the iPad on her lap, slim fingers that know exactly how to play you sliding over the glass. You tell yourself you aren’t jealous of an inanimate object and her attention on it instead of you, because that is ridiculous, but it might be a little founded in the truth.

You know she likes you naked in this room, but out of defiance, you don’t strip. You will wait for her to give her orders, you like obeying her, it feels right somehow. You’re used to being ignored though, being a soldier meant hours of standing and waiting for superiors to make decisions. So you remember your old life, pulling on experience and slipping into an easy attention. Your legs fall shoulder width apart and your clasped hands rest just above the curve of your ass. You focus your gaze on the wall ahead of you and you wait. You’d wait for her, forever.

“How have you been this week Miss Hollis,” She asks after a few long minutes and you have to physically pull yourself back into the here and now. You know she’s asking for a detailed report on your symptoms and you want to tell her about the gym, and the two times after and the dreams and the general feeling of fear, but you can’t. So you lie instead.

“I’ve been much better, only a few dreams but that’s about the height of it,” Your voice is as shaky as the fib and you’re annoyed at yourself. This whole thing is about honesty and opening yourself up, but you’re not sure you know how to anymore.

You can bare your body in this room but you can’t bare your soul. It’s pathetic, but it’s all you’ve got. Carmilla, no your _master_ , because that’s most definitely what she is right now watches you with unreadable eyes and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve done something very, very wrong.

“Take of your clothes,” She finally orders and you don’t hesitate to obey her commands. Sure fingers tug of your jeans and your hoodie and the yellow shirt with the cupcakes on it. You fold them quickly and fall back to attention, shivering at the heat in her gaze. She enthralls you so completely, you know it’s all part of her act, but it’s working for you.

Her eyes drop low and focus on the dressing on your knee, you don’t get your stiches out for another four days, and boy do those bastards itch.

You shift your knee inwards, pathetically hoping that she won’t make a comment on it, a cold shiver rakes it’s way down your spine and suddenly you’re afraid for what comes next. Something big rests in the air between you and you have a feeling that this is make or break. The tip of an iceberg. You just hope you can keep your head above the water, because you’re certainly not getting out now.

“Hmm, it’s interesting that you would say you’ve been better, because it seems your blog says different,” She says, eyes once more fixed on the tablet on her thigh. Your mouth falls open and your throat is so dry now you wonder if it’s on fire. She flips up the iPad, showing you the screen and the horrible realization that she’s reading your blog hits you. It was naïve to think that she wouldn’t. But she makes you crazy and you can’t be held responsible for that right?

“I don’t tolerate lies Miss Hollis, I’m going to have to punish you now,” She sighs standing swiftly, open robe slipping of her slim shoulders and you whimper, you actually fucking whimper at the sight of her. She’s dressed in that expensive black lingerie, thigh high stockings tucked into garter belts now visible. It sits low on her waist, hugs her curves and is all frills and lace, actual lace. How is it fair that someone can look so good wearing barely anything at all?

“Kneel,” She says indicating a spot on the floor and you finally, mercifully, snap out of the reprieve her body and her underwear had left you in. Okay so this is new, she’s given you commands before, but it’s usually things like, don’t touch, don’t talk, come for me. Kneeling implies a whole new set of submissive traits you’re not sure you’re ready to explore.

“Kneel, cutie,” She says again, voice soft but eyes still hard. But it is the utterance of the familiar nickname that ushers you into action. It’s still her, still Carmilla, even when she’s mastering you. She asked you to kneel, so you do. You lead with your right knee, wincing softly as your bandaged left one makes contact with the hardwood floor.

“Good girl,” She says, fingers gently caressing your jaw and her praise makes you happier than anything she’s done so far and that is a whole new kind of embarrassment in itself. It’s amazing the things you can learn about yourself when you take risks, you have a praise kink, that’s an interesting development.

“You know I wish you had just told me, instead of me having to go and read that blog of yours. It’s all tedious sentiment. Though I will have to give the recipe for Mediterranean sweet baked potatoes a try,” She says stepping away from you, leaving you alone kneeling uncomfortably on the beautiful dark wood floor. You hear her rummage through the dark cabinet on the left of the room that you normally ignore.

“It’s really good, I’ve got a great one for butternut squash as well,” you say a little breathlessly and your intense awkwardness kills your libido once again. Thankfully your master is on hand to set the game in motion once more.  

“Be quiet. You’re about to be punished and until I can see some remorse you will remain on that floor, so if I were you I’d take this just a little more seriously pet,” She snaps at you and your skin flushes with the shame of her admonishment. You hate that she’s mad at you, you hate that you made her this angry, but you know enough from what you’ve read and what she’s done so far to know that with pain comes a whole new kind of pleasure. You’d be a liar if you said you weren’t, in a weird and twisted way, looking forward to it.

There can be great pleasure in the small things.

She sensually curves her body back in front of you and you can’t help but lean towards her. Your face is almost exactly level with her crotch and ignoring the gnawing pain that is your left knee, it’s the sweetest view you’ve ever seen. Her fingers fist in the back of your hair and she steps a little closer to you. You take that as an invitation to dive forward and bury your nose in the seam of those beautiful lacy panties.

She’s hot, and a little damp and you want to make it your life’s mission to make her drip as badly as she makes you. You know it’s so desperate but your mouth opens and you breathe in the scent of her. That intoxicating heady mix of female desire and the uniqueness of a fragrance that is all Carmilla. Somewhere up above you she laughs, low and it makes you ache.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm pet. Punishment first, then we can see about letting you pleasure me,” She says and although you can’t see it you know her eyebrow is probably arched at the sight of you. She drags your head away from her hot center and the cold just feels wrong. You almost think about protesting but then something silver flashes in the soft lighting the room is bathed in and a strangled gasp leaves your lips.

Your nipples are on fire, a quick glance down to the two crocodile clips Master just clipped there is a good indicator as to why. You like having your nipples pinched and twisted as much as the next girl but this is a whole new level of pain and all you can do is breathe a little erratically, each expanse of your chest hurting them all the more.

_Master_ strokes your hair, smooth fingers easing their way so patiently across your face.

“Good girl, just accept it, submit to this, and it’ll feel so good,” She croons at you, nails gently scraping across your scalp and because the pain makes your nerves so sensitive it amplifies the pleasure so much that you can’t help but groan. “Now I’m going to gag you, keep you hands clasped behind your back, if you want me to stop at any time tap the floor twice,” She instructs you and you nod your understanding.

A second later and she’s pressing soft cloth between your lips and you instantly latch onto it. The faint taste of something familiar makes you realize a little slowly that it’s your own wet underwear she’s using. Fuck, that’s really hot. Your fingers wrap tight around your wrist and you wait for her, wait for her to make her move.

Her leather crop cracks between your shoulder blades without warning and your whole body arches at the painful clap of leather against your soft skin. She doesn't let you rest though, the crop makes contact with your shoulders, the small of your back, the bottom of your feet before it lands squarely atop your ass. It falls again, and again and again. Exquisite torture. You don’t even feel the pain in your nipples anymore.

You’re moaning in agony but it’s not all pain, some of it (most) of it is pleasure and you’re dripping hot all over the wooden floor. You can feel it, slipping down weak thighs that quiver with nervous anticipation.

“We do not lie. You can’t get better if you lie. I’m your master and you will keep nothing from me. You belong to me and I tell you what to do,” She snarls possessively with each clash of flesh and leather.

She tugs your underwear out of your mouth and salvia trials down your chin. A second later it is replaced with your Master’s, her mouth colliding roughly with yours in a kiss that steals a little more of your control. Her tongue lathes against yours, so hard, so rough that you feel every impression as it roves across your own. Her hands are a vice gripping the side of your head and it’s all desperation and you’re wondering if it’s hers or yours.

“Tell me you’re sorry, tell me you won’t lie to me again,” She whispers harshly against your mouth and you’ve never felt as ashamed and remorseful in your entire life.

“I’m sorry, so, so, sorry, master,” You gasp, your voice wet with tears and numb from the muffled cries she had pulled from you with her leather and the way she wielded it so sweetly that it made your body sing.

She pulls away, pushes you back to give you both air, then a second later she’s pulling you back in close and once again your nose is pressing against her mound. Except this time she’s removed her underwear and you’re pressing against neatly trimmed curls and they tickle your nose but you’ve never experienced intimacy like this before.

“Show me how sorry you are pet,” She demands and once again you obey without hesitation. Your tongue buries itself directly into moist heat and your heart roars at how wet she is and you know, as bizarre as it is, that you’re the reason, you made this happen. You drink her in, her desire running down your chin as yours coats the floor beneath you.

Your tongue paints trials between her labia, your teeth nipping gently at her clit, her breathy moans a symphony over the sound of the blood pounding in your hears. She grinds herself against your face and you hope she can feel the smile that’s stretching across your mouth. You suck at her flesh, pulling skin between your lips and humming a delicious groan in response to one of her own.

You love the taste of her, you’ve always enjoyed oral sex, both giving and receiving but, Carmilla, your master, this is something else entirely. She’s a furnace, a river, a volcano, a hurricane and she’s blowing you away. Your teeth latch onto her clit once more and this time you don’t let go, you thrash your head from side to side and she actually squeaks, squeaks in surprise.

“So close,” she whispers and somehow you hear it. You wish you could use your hands, but she ordered you not to move them. Instead you use your tongue, pressing it tight inside her and using your nose to rub her clit at the same time. It’s inelegant, messy and downright painful and who needs to breathe but you’ve never felt as happy.

She comes with a gasping breath, her fingers tightly clenched in your hair, strands wrapped around her hands. You can feel her thighs clenching and unclenching sporadically either side of your head and your tongue continues to probe its way inside of her.

“Enough,” She growls breathlessly, pulling you back from her, dark eyes meeting with yours and you wonder if it’s possible to be crushed by desire because that’s all you’re reading on her face and you’ve never been as flattered or as terrified in all your life. If this is submission then you welcome it willingly, you’d do anything to see her that vulnerable again.

Her heeled foot places itself between your legs, the leather of her 3 inch pumps teasing the sodden lips between your legs and you’re glad it’s leather she’s wearing and not suede because it would probably never dry out.

“If you want to come, then you’ll have to work for it,” She tells you and you’re pleased to note her voice is still a little rough, her chest still expanding a little too harshly. She taps your center with her foot and her meaning couldn’t be any clearer. It’s a little awkward at first because you’ve never done this before, but instinct takes over and suddenly you find yourself riding the tip of her red heels.

It’s obscene and you’ll probably look back on this moment and be disgusted at how wanton you were but it’s her, she makes you lose all of your inhibitions. And who are you kidding, the pressure against your clit feels incredible and you’re so unbelievably horny that you’re worried you’ll combust.

“Need to come,” You groan, your mouth pressing against her thigh, your tongue lathing at the sweat coated skin you taste there and the lace of her garter tickling your chin.

“I’m not sure you deserve to come, I’m not sure you’re sorry enough,” She tells you and your whole body shakes at just how disappointed that makes you. She reaches down and rips the not forgotten crocodile clips from your nipples, the sting of the clips and the ache as your blood comes rushing back in makes you want to scream. You settle instead for sobbing against her leg.  

“I’m sorry,” you cry, actual tears pooling behind your eyelids and you mean it, you didn’t mean to disappoint her. “Please let me come,” you beg, your lower body grinding forcibly into the tip of Carmilla’s shoe.

“Oh please, please,” You gasp, another long drawn out moan leaving you as she now grips your breasts tightly, her nails cutting into you ever so slightly. She leaves you there teetering on the edge for an impossibly long time.

“Come for me Laura,” She commands and finally, mercifully, come you do. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and your hips pump against her toe and you swear as clichéd as it sounds you see stars and you’ve never felt so connected and disconnected all at the same time. You feel so small and yet you feel like you’re a thousand feet tall, you feel like everything and nothing and Carmilla’s velvet voice and her soft hands are guiding you home.

You fall from your high with a soft cry and you lose the ability to hold yourself up, slipping sideways, heated skin resting roughly against the cold floor. Nothing makes sense right now, because you have never, _never_ come like that before and your body shakes with the after affects and it was so intoxicating that you wonder how you’ll ever live without it.

But then Carmilla is there, cradling your head and placing it in her lap, her lips warm and reassuring as she presses them to your sweat coated forehead. You curl into her because she is solid and you’re not sure if you are anymore, you feel like the wind, ready to blow away at a moments notice.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay,” She’s whispering and it feels different. You wonder if she feels it too. It goes beyond affection and lust and not for the first time your addled brain throws in the word connection and you wonder, you wonder for a second how great that would actually be.

Your left knee throbs and you groan when you straighten it. Carmilla’s hands leave your face, moving to carefully touch the bandage wrapped tightly around the stiff joint. You force your eyes to open and to really look at her, she looks so beautiful with her tussled hair and flushed cheeks. Her eyes wander over your body but there is nothing sexual in her gaze now, just pure concern and that doesn't annoy you surprisingly given your history with over protectiveness.

There’s something hot and possessive about her gaze and you welcome it, you welcome how warm and safe it makes you feel. _If this is submission_ you think again, _then I gladly accept being this vulnerable_. Your master stands and helps you to your feet, one strong arm around your waist, the other entwining fingers with yours as she helps you limp across the room and into the adjoining bedroom.

“You okay cupcake?” She asks as she turns down the covers of the bed, gesturing for you to climb in first. You have to think about her question; really think about it, because you feel so wired it’s hard to focus. Your body hums with nervous energy but it feels so good that you welcome the buzz along your skin.

She kneels on the bed beside you, watching you carefully, you feel like prey and once again you’re reminded of how dangerous she is but you welcome the danger because you’re not remotely scared of her. She waits for you to answer and you lick your dry lips before you do.

“I’m okay, really, I just feel like I’m dreaming, like everything’s underwater. But it’s the first time in ages I haven’t felt scared,” You say with a dopey smile and once again tears prick behind your eyes and you feel stupid for wanting to cry but it’s such a relief not feeling like the walls are closing in around you.

Carmilla smiles at you, a genuine thing that does nothing to stop the emotion behind your eyelids. You try to hide it from her, but you can’t, she just pulls you into her arms and let’s you sniffle against her soft skin that smells like shea butter and coconut oil and tastes even better.

You fight sleep, because you’ve never felt as good, but when she kisses your temple and tells you to nap, you forget that you’re not the master here. She is. When you drift of to sleep it’s safe in the knowledge that she’s got you, really got you and that terrifies you most of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> badaax.tumblr.com


	3. Break My Bones So I Can Feel Them Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all once again and welcome to the next instalment in what I've affectionately started calling the 'Laura has PTSD AU'. I'm publishing this later than I would have like, I think part of me is still reeling from the chaos that was Carmilla last Thursday! 
> 
> I just want to say thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos, it is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> As always this story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.
> 
> TW: PTSD, Military Situations, Sexual Situations, Graphic depictions of violence.

She has you bound spread eagle on the bed. Your arms are pinned back against silk sheets, elbows digging into the mattress, toes curled in protest and anticipation. It is an interesting surrender, a submission that tugs at everything you ever thought you knew about yourself. Soft scarves secure each wrist to a bedpost and your ankles are in a similar state. 

She, _Master_ , _Carmilla_ , has another scarf, one end wraps around her wrist, the other drapes over your skin. You shiver every time she moves it to glide sensually along hyper aware flesh. You can’t be sure if it is the feel of the scarf that drives you wild or the immodest look in her eyes when she does it. 

She is all power and you are at her mercy. She eyes you up like you are some delectable treat, other times she watches you with a self indulging smirk on those red lips that bring you sleepless nights. The smirk makes you feel like some sort of pet, the intense hungry eyes make you feel like a goddess. 

This is your sixth session, the second one this week and you’re really starting to see progress. You actually mean the words this time. Being with her brings a calm, a fresh new perspective and understanding. LaF calls her your kink-therapist and she isn’t far wrong. But it is confusing as hell, you like the way she cradles you close after you’re done just as much as you like when her whip meets your skin. 

She assured you before you started and continues on in the same vein that there is no shame in what you feel. A lifetime of thinking otherwise is hard to overcome, but you’ve always been open-minded maybe that’s why it’s so easy for you now. You can’t be frightened of the unknown; you’re just not wired this way. 

But there is something about Carmilla, she’s just so good at pushing your buttons, it’s that knowledge which makes you so unsteady. 

“Relax cutie,” She purrs in that seductive voice of hers. You shiver at the sound, a gasp seeping it’s way out of your lips when the edge of the scarf brushes over one of your nipples. See? Always pushing buttons. 

“Did you remember to practice your breathing exercises?” She asks lowering hands to check your bonds. You think it’s more for show than anything else, because her lingerie clad breasts push into your face and the question she asked becomes white noise in your head. 

“Huh?” You ask stupidly, mesmerized by the hollow at the base of her throat, the tight chords of muscle in her neck, the faint smell of coconut that emanates from her skin. Her hands cradle your wrists in a grip that is one part soft and gentle and one part strength and control. She is a walking contradiction, a question you find yourself asking over and over and over again as she makes you climax around her fingers. 

She laughs, it’s a low growl and your insides tighten at the sound. Then she admonishes you with a low _‘tut tut tut’_ and the coil in your gut becomes shame instead. Your master asked you a question and you didn’t answer. 

“Did you remember to practice your breathing exercises?” She asks again and you are so grateful and also so disappointed that she doesn't punish you for the misdemeanor. This time you drag your eyes away from the expanse of her beautiful chest and focus on those dark eyes instead. In some ways you find them even more irresistible than her body. 

“I did Master, yes,” You say a little breathlessly, somewhat ironic given the question. She’d assigned you some breathing techniques in the session after your meltdown in the gym. A way to get the situation under control before it even becomes a situation. She’d reinforced them in your last session, forcing you to practice breathing while she rubbed your clit, pausing every time you got it wrong and every time you nearly hurtled over the edge.  It did however firmly reinforce the message. 

“Good girl,” She says smiling down at you and the swell of pride that surges through your being is almost embarrassing. Heat floods between your legs and you know she’ll see just how desperate you are for her to touch you. Your pale skin is flushed in anticipating pleasure and you just want her to be the one break down your walls. 

“Thank you Master,” You murmur softly, hooded eyes once again watching her intently as she commands the room. She matches your gaze for a second, and not for the first time you wonder what she’s thinking, what is going through her head when she looks at you. 

“In return for doing your homework, I’m going to give you a little reward,” She begins almost as if delivering a lecture, but there is nothing academic about this. Unless Carnal Desire 101 was a module you missed back in university. She approaches you again, this time taking the soft red scarf now unwound from her wrist and draping it across your eyes. 

You stiffen at first, the blindfold stealing an important one of your senses. You told her before about your aversion to the dark, ever since Afghanistan you’ve had to sleep with a nightlight. Somewhat embarrassing but you hate waking up not being able to see where you are, or who is potentially attacking you. 

“Relax pet, you’re in no danger here, today’s session is all about trust. Trust in me as your Master and trust in the sensations you are feeling. By robbing you of one of your senses it highlights the other ones. You know what to do if you want to stop,” She says it in that same sensual voice and there is something about it that makes your fear just ebb away. You think somewhat dimly back to one of the final emails you sent before you started therapy, the one about safe words and hard limits. Her reminding you now about an exit is enough to keep you wanting to stay. 

You sense her stepping away from you, though you now cannot see anything except the dark pressing in on you. You swallow a breath, your bound hands becoming fists as cold sweat pools your skin. But despite the slight unease you are not scared, Carmilla will not leave you wanting. 

Her hands sliding along the outside of your thighs makes you jump, before a groan escapes your lips and your fingers are curling for entirely different reasons. Her hands are warm and soft and so sure of themselves and you know instantly that she was right about your senses adapting. 

Your ears hear every soft breath she makes, every almost silent pad of foot against luxuriously carpet. You hear the creak of silk scarf against your own flesh and your nose is filled with the scent of coconut and your own arousal. Your sense of touch though is another monster altogether. 

Goose bumps line your skin, and the fine hairs covering your limbs and stomach stand erect, at attention, waiting for her to brush finely manicured nails over them. She traces your body, touching the outside of your thighs, skimming along your waist and over your shoulders. She touches everywhere except the places that you need the most, the back of your knee, your inner thighs, the spot behind your ears and the straining peaks that are your breasts. 

You gasp and whimper your way through her exploration, eyes needlessly screwed shut and your flesh feeling hot and inflamed. She makes you feverish and she knows it. You’re only vaguely aware of her speaking to you, soft, dirty words of what she wants to do to you spilling from those red lips. 

You feel, her move to straddle your waist. The press of the bed sheets, the heat of her groin settling against your toned stomach and the tight clench of her thighs against your waist a heady mixture. She asks you questions like “Are you a good girl?” “Will you behave for Master” “Do you want Master to make you even hotter?” you reply to each one with a breathless “oh yes Master, please” in a shockingly wavering voice and again you have recourse from her wandering hands. 

You like this game she’s playing, punishment is one thing, you’re good at taking it because it’s no different than when you were in the military, only the nature of the punishment has changed. But this makes you feel alive and on edge and she does that just by tracing faint patterns over your taut muscles. 

She reaches for something hanging over your head, her breasts press against your face again and this time you outright groan at the sensation of her nipples touching your lips and nose. She has removed her bra and now her bare skin is scant inches away from you. She holds herself in that pose for a moment and you hesitantly flick your tongue against a peaked nipple. 

You wait for her to scold you for touching her without asking but when she doesn’t you take that as a sign to delve in deeper. You pull her nipples in between your lips, your tongue rolling against the tip of delicate flesh and the moan that escapes her lips surges straight through you and into your groin. 

You shift uncomfortably and she rocks herself against you, her own arousal evident by the growing wet patch coating the muscles on your abdomen. You like being used like this though, a tool for her own pleasure, because in it’s own weird way you’re still the one with all the power and that is exactly what you’ve needed. 

“I’m going to cover your ears now,” She says pulling away from you, her nipple leaving your mouth with a faint, wet pop. You shiver a little at the absence and at the next step in her play. She’s left you so on edge, the phantom feeling of her nails still coating your body. You nod without thinking any further about it. If losing one sense was this intense, another sense going will just highlight it all the more. 

You feel headphones slip over your ears, muffling the world around you, the only thing you can hear now is your own rough harsh breathing and the pounding of your heart. You swallow thickly and force yourself to breathe. 

Her fingers glide over your skin again and you were right about the intensity changing. With no sense of sight or sound you have to focus on the way her nails pluck against your flesh. You have to focus on the weight of her against your ribs. You have to focus on the warm puffs of air she exhales on your neck and the way her lips trace the pulse in your throat. 

She slides one hand backwards between your legs, one finger trailing through downy hair before dipping into the saturated mess that is your sex. She runs a finger the length of your slit, gathering moisture on its tip. She purposefully avoids your clit and when her hand leaves you are left trembling and weak in her wake. 

She presses her wet finger between your lips and you greedily suck it between your teeth, your tongue lathing of the taste of your own arousal and her other hand strokes your head like you’re some obedient animal. She slips her finger out of your mouth, both hands leaving your body. She slides a little further down your body, resting her panty-clad center directly on top of your own. 

You arch your back at the sensation of her wetness mingling with yours even through the thin barrier separating you. She grounds herself against you and even though you can’t hear her or see her, you know she’s smirking at your helplessness. Your breathing sounds harsh in your ears and the groaning; oh the _moans_ you make almost turn you on even further. 

Something soft brushes over your breasts and for a second you think it’s another scarf again, except it doesn't feel like one. She slaps it against you again, this time a little harder and it’s all that it takes for it to fall into place. The curious feel of shredded leather, the soft yet firm tongs of a flogger. She gently covers your torso with light blows and you know the purpose is not to punish you or arouse you with pain but to cause you sensation.

It makes your skin tingle and your entire body shake with desire. You drip in heated sweat and the feel of her tongue running the length of your straining neck to collect some of it has you almost coming against her but you don’t. 

She slides further back, resting on your ankles so she can simultaneously provide herself with friction in the form of your leg and have access to your quivering pussy with her flogger. She drags the leather over your wetness and you know the noises you’re making must be obscene because they sound loud even in your deaf ears. 

The flogger begins to fall a little heavier, the biting sting across your breasts and nipples, across tense stomach and trembling labia having you arch with every hit. It’s painful but oh so arousing, she plays your whole body like some sort of macabre symphony. You could never have imagined getting so much pleasure from being unable to hear and see in the dark and being trapped by someone else. You are finding peace in surrender. 

Then it all sort of goes to hell in a hand basket in true Laura Hollis style. 

The flogger cracks against your left leg, directly on top of your scars, and every peaceful thought, every ounce of arousal and every thought of safety goes flying out the window with a stuttering cry of fear. 

“Socks!” You gasp or shout or something you don’t know. From somewhere deep you didn’t know about you pull the safe word you’d established weeks ago hoping that you’d never need to use it. “Socks,” You cry again and Carmilla instantly leaves you. You can feel her hands reaching from the blindfold and headphones. 

But it’s too late. You flash right there in the middle of the room, spread eagle and tied naked to the bed with the most gorgeous and perfect woman riding your leg. The gathering darkness and memories make it almost impossible to care. 

***

_The convoy bumps over the uneven terrain of something that only sort of resembles a road. You’re jostled about in your seat, shoulders bumping with your squad buddy on your left and the big muscled head LT on your right._

_“You alright there Tiny Hollis, you’re looking a little green,” a joking voice laughs and your head whips round to the speaker. Betty Spielsdorf stares back at you with her wide smile and her flyaway blonde hair. You grin back, the sunburnt flesh on your face stretching at the notion. You once again curse your fair skin that refuses to toughen itself to the glaring Afghan sun. Even after your second go at it._

_“Right back at you Spielsdork,” You chide using that stupid nickname and enjoying the rise you get out of her. Betty has been your squad buddy since brief. With the lack of women in the military it’s hard for high command to pair women with women as its supposed to be. But you’re glad you got Betty. Patient Betty, fun Betty, there for you whenever you need her, Betty has been your right arm in this forsaken wasteland._

_Betty is straight but gets that you’re not. Gets it so well that she even keeps away drunk FNGs and tries to set you up with the nurses in the basecamp medic HQ. You rebuke every hookup because you don’t do casual, and you have no interest in starting something serious when you only have one month left of your deployment. But you appreciate her trying all the same._

_You clutch your M16 a little tighter as the truck tilts again over a particularly patchy spot of road. You hear someone swear and your head thunks against the back of the truck, eyes closing against the hot midday sun. Heat bounces of the sand dunes and you look forward to the cool shade of base that waits for you._

_Your squad has just finished a supply drop to the local field hospital that was set up a few months ago. The hospital treats both soldiers, and the general public and the weary but thankful smiles on the faces that use it say it was a worthwhile venture. Even if it does mean travelling miles across hot desert sand through hostile territory to make sure it is well stocked._

_A familiar popping sound has you all surging on edge, insurgent gunfire sounding across dusty dunes. The first truck in the convoy explodes without warning metal twisting and scorching as the whole thing flies high into the air. The driver of your truck, the one next in line screeches the brakes to a halt before throwing the whole thing into reverse._

_The tires squeal backwards and your hands clutch the side of the truck for dear life, your LT screaming orders over the sound of fireworks. Except its not fireworks, its gunfire and it’s hitting the side of your all terrain vehicle without mercy. The truck collides with the one directly behind, the screech of metal against metal loud and chaotic in your ears._

_Another explosion rents a hole in the side of your truck, RPG smoke trailing back to the rebel holding a now empty launcher. You have no eyes for him though, you can only focus on the spot that your LT once sat in. You’re faintly aware of the wet, hot, substance running down your face, knowing that it is his blood that now coats your face._

_Betty takes charge like she’s supposed to, screaming for the vehicle to stop and allow the rest of the squad to disembark. You’re out of your seat and on desert sand before your mind can even catch up. You raise your gun and return fire, covering your squad mates some of who now have injuries._

_You watch a man, no wait, a boy, he’s no older than sixteen come running at Betty’s turned back, his AK-47 raised in defiance. You scream at him to stop, to lower his weapon but your voice is lost over the din and the manic look in his eyes leaves you with no choice. The trigger in your hands leaps to life and your spray of fire hits its target with a sickening thud. You feel sick as the kid drops like a stone blood leaking from his chest._

_Betty turns to face you, expressionless with ashen skin and the relief in her eyes is almost palpable, so is the guilt. But then the world rents itself apart even further. Hot pain explodes across your leg as the truck finally explodes, searing metal flying through the air. A heavy body pushes you backwards and saves your life from the worst of the damage._

_Betty watches you with empty eyes and you can’t even scream when her hot blood mixes with the blood leaking from your own wounds. A bullet rips into your shoulder and you cry out because you’ve never been shot before and it hurts a lot more than you thought it would._

_But you lie against hot sand with Betty Spielsdorf atop of you blocking you from the worst of the shooting and when it dies down and choppers sound over head and medics are rushing to your side all you can see, all you can focus on is the missing half of Betty’s body._

_***_

“Laura!” A shout of your name pulls you back to reality your whole body shaking before it curves in on itself. You don’t know where you are, whose presence it is you can feel or why you’re naked because none of it matters. All you can feel is the burning in your leg and the pressure of a stupidly dead Betty on top of you. 

Something warm touches your shoulder softly, tentatively and despite wanting to flinch from the touch, something inside of you tells you not too. So you don’t, you ease yourself into it instead and allow it to anchor you. You open your eyes, vaguely remembering a blindfold that is now auspiciously missing. The fact that you are curled into the fetal position arms wrapped around tucked legs also tells you that the restraints that you think held you have now gone too. 

Dark worried eyes meet yours and memories that aren’t the war come rushing back in. Carmilla watches you carefully like you’re the only thing in the world and that itself is enough to simultaneously settle you and undo you further. 

“Your name is Laura Hollis,” she begins softly in a much gentler voice than you can ever remember her using before but it somehow filters its way into your blood-starved brain. “You were a Logistic Supply Specialist in the military. You served two tours in Afghanistan, but now you write freelance news articles for the local media and you run your own blog. You have friends called LaFontaine and Lola Perry, and you’ve been coming here for a few weeks for therapy. You are in Room 307 with me Carmilla.” 

She labels the facts about your life and with each one you feel a little more of your self return. When she says her own name your body loses all of it’s tension and you sag on her sheets. Her touch becomes a caress; her fingers trailing across your skin to comfort this time not incite desire. 

“Do you want to tell me what you saw?” She asks and instantly you think about saying no. But then, that’s not part of the healing process and you want more than anything to get well. You nod your head like a child but she smiles patiently at you and the look in her eyes makes you feel anything but like a child. 

You open your mouth and tell her the details of your flash. It’s clinical and lacking in the subtle details but you know she gets the gist of it. You’re shaking by the end, not able to see anything but blood and sand and Betty’s lifeless eyes. Carmilla inhales and exhales slowly and you find yourself doing the same. It helps. She helps. 

“That was then. This is now. You’re safe now,” She says simply when you’ve finished speaking. It’s not the speech you thought it would be and somehow that makes it all the more real. You feel your shame build behind your eyes and this time when you close them you don’t see the things you fear you just feel the embarrassment of losing control again. 

“I’m sorry,” You say in a pathetically tiny voice and the hand on your forearm instantly stiffens. She pulls away from you and you wonder what it was you’ve done wrong. 

“Why are you sorry?” She asks part curious part wary and you don’t want to look at her to see which is painted onto her beautiful face. 

“Because I flashed, because I used the safe word,” You say hurriedly your hands fisting in black sheets. Silk bedclothes are so impractical but they feel incredible against your skin, even when its not inflamed with passion. 

“Laura look at me,” The command in her voice makes you unable to hesitate even a little bit. Your eyes crack open and with the aid of her hand against your chin she turns your head to face her. “We do not apologize. _Ever_. For using the safe word. That's the point of the word in the first place. If anyone is at fault here it is me for not noticing your discomfort earlier. But I need you tell me when it’s getting too much. It’s easy to get lost in emotion, communication between us is very important. Do you understand?” She asks gaze almost heavy against yours. 

You nod your head, feeling the muscles in her fingers move as you do. She purses her lips and leans in a little closer. 

“Do you understand pet?” She asks and you detect the faintest of warnings beneath her breath. 

“Yes Master,” You say and the smile you get for your trouble makes it all worth it. She leans forward, pressing her lips against yours in a chaste kiss that doesn't nearly last long enough, breathing a “good girl” against your mouth. She sighs and pulls away reluctantly running her eyes along your naked form. 

“This is probably a good place to stop for today,” she says and something in you twists a little. A quick glance at the clock tells you that there is still an hour and a half left on your session and although part of you is still frightened the rest is telling you to get back on the horse right now. 

“No, please Master. I don’t want to end it here, let me please you,” You rush your words and your cheeks flame at how wanton and desperate you sound. Carmilla is shaking her head before you’ve even finished talking and the anticipation of a fight banishes the rest of your fear. 

“You owe me nothing Laura, this isn’t just about pleasure. I don’t need you just for that. It’s about power exchange and control. I pushed you too far out of your comfort zone today and I think you need time to unravel why that is,” She says in her best therapist voice and although the comment about her not needing you for pleasure stings a little you push on regardless. 

You sit up, knees touching her thigh, your hands trailing along her arms before you can stop yourself. But since she doesn't stop you either you keep painting lines onto her skin with your fingers. 

“I don't think going away will help me this time. I need the control back, exchanging it with you gives me power and I understand why that helps. Please Carm, I want this. I want you,” You plead with her and she watches you for achingly long seconds as if you are some puzzle she’s having difficulty working out. But then she’s there, leaning towards you, faces inches from each other. 

“It’s Master,” She breathes against your lips and suddenly she’s surrounding you, warm tongue pushing into your mouth and mixing your salvia with hers. Her hands grab your biceps and she crushes your chests together. Hardening nipples grating against the other as heat floods back into your lower extremities. 

You lose track of time and space and all semblance of self. You’re only truly aware of her hands rubbing and pinching in all the right places and yours returning the favor. It’s fast and chaotic and filled with the most intense lust that you’ve ever felt but she’s driving you insane and you need her crazy to make you well again. 

She groans into your mouth and bites your lip, the sting almost making you come undone. Her hands tighten around your arms and she flips you round, pressing your front against the silk sheets, your breasts inflamed against the cold material. Your arms slip around her pillow, your teeth biting to stop your cries of need. 

She separates your thighs with one of her own before sliding onto your left leg, the damaged one that makes you cringe but the one she finds beautiful. She’s removed her underwear and you can feel her wetness slick against your skin and creating glorious friction for her. 

She takes you, grinding hard against your hamstring, one hand holding you down, the other sliding between your labia, fingers simultaneously thrusting and tweaking your clit as she fucks you. 

She runs you both hard, the bed almost creaking in protest and your skin is slick against hers and her sweat coats your back and mixes with your own. Your legs buck with her every movement and although you can’t see her, she’s everywhere, she’s all you can breathe.

She comes before you do, groaning and panting in that irresistible way you now recognise as her climax. You get no warning before you follow her, knowing you’ll pay for not asking for permission but in that moment you don’t give a shit about obeying because you actually sob in the twisted agony she inflicts.

Her name leaves your lips and she rubs you into a second much smaller but no less intense orgasm before she withdraws flopping beside you with as much grace as you now expect from her. You turn your head to watch her, the feel of her leg still trapped between yours and the wetness rolling down your thigh from her own end almost surreal.

She watches you with dark eyes and she’s so beautiful you just want to pretend for a moment it’s all real. That she really is yours. But at the end of the session you leave with nothing more than a chaste kiss shared between you and a faint promise that next time she’ll have to punish you for coming without her approval. You almost welcome the devilish look in her eyes because in that moment it’s just you and her and nothing in the world matters but the connection between you both. 

You leave with a sigh and although Betty and the flash still play on your mind for the first time in months you don’t feel helpless. You don’t feel like a victim, you feel like a survivor. That’s healing. That's hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> badaax.tumblr.com 


	4. Crazy's I Believe the Medical Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all and welcome back, today I'm reporting live from Iceland because I'm ironically too tired to sleep. Thank goodness for hotel wifi! I had intended on uploading this yesterday but sleep before my flight took precedent. 
> 
> Thank you all for the continued support, I hope you enjoy this one. 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.
> 
> TW: PTSD, Military Situations, Sexual Situations.

You’re in agony, exquisite body shaking agony. You shift on the bed, clenched fists digging deeper into your lower back. The muscles in your thighs tremble, bound and pressed against your own calves. Carmilla arranged you this way, _master_ , tied your ankles to the backs of your thighs and threw you roughly onto her bed, crushing your bound arms beneath your own body.

You are spread open and bared to her gaze and you have no choice but to accept it. It’s all about her power over you, you understand that and it makes you hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Evidence of your debauchery flows from your core, down your inner thighs, wetness slick against soft skin.

The worst of the matter is that she hasn’t even touched you yet. You’re fired up and ready and it’s just from the rope. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel about that. But when she’s ready for you to feel, by hell or Hogwarts you know you’re going to.

“Have you been a good girl this week, Miss Hollis?” She asks, voice pulling you out of the fog your arousal-induced mind had you spiraling into. You turn your head to look at her, trembling as you drink her in. She’s wearing red today, and the expensive thong and matching corset look unbelievable on her. They push up her breasts, the hint of dusky nipples just visible along the edge of the lingerie.

But it’s her ass that really gets to you. Ill encased as it is in that scandalous silk thong, it is a masterpiece, curved and porcelain white. Her skin is so perfect, you wish, you wish you had free reign to explore her body like she explores yours. Except that is not the nature of your relationship.

This is a first and you know it, it hurts to admit because she’s been incredible, but for the first time since this insanity started you wish that you weren’t just her patient, her sub. You wish she wasn’t just your therapist and your dom. You wish she was yours and that you were on equal footing with her. But you’re not, the black leather crop in her hand and the dominating glint in her eyes tells you more than you would want to know.

You swallow down the rising disappointment, focus on the pleasure and allow yourself to accept anything she’ll give you, because let’s face it, the alternative of her not being in your life scares you more than anything. You’re a soldier but she terrifies you.

You focus on her, licking your lips and letting desire override your brain that just won’t switch of. Her eyes soften ever so slightly and it’s enough, enough to bring you back to this moment.

“I’ve been good Master,” you tell her and the smile she graces you with fills your head with white noise and floods your body with heat. You like pleasing her, even if it’s in the simple things. You’ve gone three weeks without having a flash. You’ve felt normal, it’s been like a fucking miracle and it’s all because of Carmilla. You know that, you even tried to tell her in your rambling way as she held you close after your last session. She’d simply smiled and told you that she was very good at what she did. You definitely concur.

“Very good pet,” Carmilla purrs, one beautiful hand, nails painted black stroking the length of your face. Despite the discomfort in the way your body is bound you lean in to her touch. It’s a little pathetic but you don’t care. She makes you feel good and that’s enough for now. “We better get straight to work this week, since we don’t have as much time as usual,” She adds in the same deep voice. You shiver, your whole body attuned to her every whim.

You’d had to switch your session this week, moving from your normal Wednesday evening slot, to a mid-afternoon Monday. Carmilla had been reluctant to see you today, though you weren’t in a position to ask why and you’re still not. You know you could have waited until your session on Friday but you needed to see her. You felt guilty for lying and telling her that you’d had a flash. But you need her, it’s starting to border on the pathological. You know the need is unhealthy, because she won’t always be there. But you will take what you can get when you can get it. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. 

Carmilla starts your session with her crop, worn leather slapping gently but with intent on your inner thighs. Your try to close your legs, try to escape from her assault but you are bound open. There is no escape from delirious pain. Automatic reaction aside you don’t even want to escape. Your eyes roll back and a gratuitous groan escapes your throat.

Your Master switches her focus, laying small taps on your pussy instead, labia quivering and coating the crop with moisture. She trails the tip of her whip across your body, painting a design around your belly button and between your breasts with your own desire. It’s hot but cools instantly on your flesh and the sensation drags more whimpers from your lips.

You're like a bitch in heat and you need your Master to control you completely. Only she can ease the ache, only she can have mastery over you. Your hips shift upward and you pump at the air, hoping, begging, that Master will have mercy and put her fingers were you need them most.

Her crop reaches your mouth, leather pressing against your lips and you know her well enough by now to know what she wants, what she expects. You open your mouth tasting leather and your own arousal as it passes between your lips. You suck lightly on the tip, wishing it was something else, something more Carmilla.

Practiced fingers touch lightly between your thighs and your breath staccato’s around the room, your body arching in a desperate bid to drive her deeper. She doesn’t give you more though. She just traces small circles around your clit, firing you up and driving you mad all with the movement of a finger.

“Does it taste good pet?” She asks, pressing the crop a little tighter against your tongue. You nod your head, breathing harshly when she pulls it away, casting it aside to some forgotten corner of her room.

“Yes Master,” You pant, hips canting upwards again, arms and hands bruising the soft skin on your back. She watches you with dark eyes and bright red lips and in this light, buried in the silk on her bed she looks positively supernatural.

“Is it your favorite taste?” She says cocking her head to the left, watching you like you are some amusing creature. Her fingers slide a little harder over your clit now and your whole body coils in nervous anticipation.

“No M-m-master” You reply voice breaking and catching as one finger suddenly plunges deep inside you, burying itself to the hilt before it is removed just as swiftly.

“Then what is your favorite, cutie?” Carmilla asks, sliding forward onto her knees, placing herself delicately between your spread legs, fingers leaving your pussy. You tremble and sweat pours over your skin and beads in rivets down your straining neck and trails over the valley between your breasts. Her eyes watch the progress and a small-deranged part of you revels in the pleasure of making her so enamored.

“You,” You whisper the word, honest and almost frightened but you mean every letter of it. She has bewitched you completely, no woman will ever compare to her and that’s okay because she isn’t like normal women. When you finally find someone who will love your scars and your flaws and your fears you won’t be in it just for how good the sex is. You’re looking for a partner not just a lover, but for now you’re glad Carmilla is at least in your life as the lover, even if the traitorous part of you tells you that it’s just not enough.

“Good answer Miss Hollis,” Master says and the look in her eyes as she says it makes you tremble. She looks at you like she wants to devour you, and you’re not entirely sure that you wouldn’t be willing for her to do just that. She smiles, that crooked twist of her lips that you know isn’t really her but it’s part of the act. The seductresses routing that drives you nuts.

You gasp breathless and shaking as she slides her way up your body, removing her red thong and leaving it to rest on your heaving abdomen. She watches you the whole time, never looking away as she finally comes to rest with her ass on your neck and her hot center perched directly above your mouth.

You lick dry lips and your eyes trail over swollen flesh, completely and utterly transfixed at the amount of moisture already gathered. Your breathing is harsh, sweat dripping into your your eyes as you follow the path of a bead of your Master’s arousal. The small drop rolls over enflamed labia to smear a path along Carmilla’s inner thigh. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything so erotic before in your life.

You’ve done this a few times in the past with previous girlfriends. It always left you feeling a little vulnerable yet still empowered. But you know that Carmilla sitting on your face while you tongue her into oblivion is going to be an experience of a whole new kind. She is your master, you are hers to control and use and you know from that gleam in her eyes that makes you deliriously wet that she intends to do just that.

“You better get to work we don’t have much time left,” Carmilla tells, no, orders you and you like that. You like that she tells you what to do, you want to obey because this is how you’ve been conditioned. Whether it be here, on the street or on the battlefield, Carmilla’s control has brought you back the things you’ve missed. Maybe one day soon it’ll even stop you thinking about Betty the corpse and start thinking about Betty the person instead.

Carmilla lowers herself without any further ceremony onto your waiting mouth, and you have no power, no want either to restrain the groan of pure satisfaction that leaves you and ripples against her core as she floods your tongue. One of her hands fists in your hair, nails scrapping against your scalp and her thighs are hot against your ears.

You wish you could touch her, your whole body aches to hold her and put your hands on her. You want to cradle her ass, caress her thighs and hips, reach up and squeeze her breasts, roll peaked nipples between your fingers and touch the straining sinew of her neck. But because she has you spread tight and bound hard, your own hands damaging the soft flesh on your back you can do nothing but worship her with your tongue and your teeth and watch as she writhes above you.

Carmilla sets a blistering pace and you can barely keep up. You harden your tongue and allow her to undulate her hips against it, hot muscle rubbing her clit with every roll of her body. She spares your comfort levels no thought as she rides your face hard. But that’s the point of this whole exercise. You’ve given yourself to her completely, she is your world in this moment and you would do anything for her pleasure.

You have never felt so used in your whole life, it’s a whole new level of depravity. One that makes you feel guilty in ways you’ve never felt before. But, you’ve never felt so empowered at the same time. It’s not societies fault they can’t understand that you need this now and that Carmilla is the one to give it to you.

“Oh fuck yes,” Carmilla gasps above you and despite the agony of your suppressed limbs and the ache in your jaw, you’ve never seen anything so beautiful and breath taking. Carmilla’s head is thrown back in free abandon, her free hand squeezing her bra-covered breast. The tendons in her neck stand taut and sweat glistens on perfect creamy skin.

You keep your eyes fixed on her, your teeth grazing against her clit pulling a stuttered curse from those beautiful red lips of hers. Her ass crashes against your throat and chest with every pump of strong hips and you’re almost desperate now to touch her. Your skin burns to feel hers in your grasp, but she will not grant you that, you know that.

She slides forward, grinding your nose against her mound, coating your face in her ever increasing arousal and you worry for half a second could you actually possibly drown in it. But hell, what a way to go, buried nose deep in Carmilla’s quim.

She’s close and you both know it. Her hand is completely twisted in your sweat soaked hair, her thighs tremble against your jaw and her breathing is so erratic you’re starting to worry that she’s going to hyperventilate. It fills you with the smuggest pride you’ve ever felt that you are the person doing this to her. It’s you that’s driving her mad.

You run your nose up and down her slick heat, teeth nipping gently, a feat that proves more difficult than you would like. She’s moving so fast, the bed rocking against the wall as she fucks herself on your face.

When the hand that was on her breast sneaks back and cups your own aching sex, you actually squeal against her. You’re embarrassed by how aroused her domination of you has made you, but then this is what her mastery is all about. You’re so closing to coming you hurt all over but you can’t come until she does.

You’re all but desperate now, tongue fucking her hole with free abandon, drinking down everything she has to offer, wishing you could freeze this moment. Old wounds mean little, old scars all but forgotten, it’s just you and her and her impending break down.

“So close, so close, don’t you dare fucking come before I do,” She groans through gritted teeth and although you’re now completely obscured by her body, you can just imagine the look of tortured anticipation on her face. She rubs your clit hard, applying pressure in all the right ways and your body rises to meet hers.

Just when you think you’re going to lose the battle and fall before she does, she comes. Comes so hard your whole world narrows and shakes and suddenly your own pleasure becomes completely irrelevant because when Carmilla climaxes it is your name on her lips. Not some stupidly sweet nickname, but your real name, _Laura._ You follow her into oblivion, but it is not the blissful, chaotic release you’ve come to expect. This one does little to actually quell your desire, it is merely a means to an end and you cry out not sure if it’s pain or pleasure you’re feeling. Only knowing that the tortured groan of your own name will haunt you.

Carmilla, _Master_ , climbs unsteadily of your face, kneeling next to your defeated body. Your skin feels like it’s one giant nerve, a simple touch and you’ll explode, but you don’t, not even when Carmilla’s deft hands swiftly undo the ties that bind you.

“Well Miss Hollis, that was certainly something. Maybe we should do quick more often,” She says with that ridiculously sexy smirk, but you can’t help but feel that it’s only a shield, a mask. Her hands shake as she helps you to sit up, stretching out your poor muscles, rubbing a hand against the bruised skin of your back. Her eyes meet yours and you wonder if she’s feeling as fragile and broken as you do right now. Maybe it was always supposed to feel this way, and you’re just looking for connection where there is none.

“I’d like that Master,” You say almost shyly, lowering your eyes to watch your clenched fists, nails tight against your palms, hands pressed against the red welts from the ropes that held your thighs. Carmilla’s hand is warm and sure against your jaw, her fingers tilting your face to look at her.

“It’s Carmilla right now sweetheart,” She tells you and the endearment feels like more than her usual attempt at distance. Your broken body wants to believe it means more, but then, it doesn't because she is your therapist and not your lover. You are her patient, not hers to whisper sweet things to.

“Thanks Carm, that was really something else,” You say, a pathetic and inane attempt at describing one of the most profound experiences you’ve ever had. You feel so strange, half turned on, half emotional wreck. You feel just as weird as you did when you climaxed and you wonder if she feels it too. You want to find the courage to voice your question. 

“Indeed it was,” She says and you know that even if you did ask she would never tell you. The Carmilla you know and the one you want to know are two different people and you wonder if anyone knows the real her. Not Master, not therapist but just the woman underneath. In a world that didn’t have wars and scars and dead squad mates maybe you could have been the one to find out.

She helps you to dress, it’s sweet, kinda like the person you think she might be past the seductress. She gives you a glass of water, instructs you to remember your breathing techniques before she sees you later on in the week. She tucks a piece of flyaway hair behind your ear and when she leans in to kiss you goodbye it’s so soft and gentle your already heightened senses almost completely noise dive.

You can see the question on her face, and when it leaves those beautiful lips that make you feel like a queen and something worthy you find it so hard, so very hard to lie to her.

“You alright cupcake?” It’s so ridiculous, the stupid nickname, and so totally her that you don’t even have to fake the smile.

“Yeah I am, thanks again for today,” It sounds good, the lie you’ve concocted for yourself, because how could you really tell her that your orgasm today scared the absolute shit out of you. How could you tell her that you wish you’d never had to meet her like this? How could you tell her that you want to beg her to never let you leave?

But leave you do, and that is even harder than the lie. Carmilla escorts you to the door, dressed once again in her expensive silk robe, looking as composed and cool as ever. But you know what she looks like undone, you saw the wonder in her eyes as she looked down at you, her climax dripping down your mouth and your jaw. She looked at you like she’d never seen anything quite like it before and you had wished so hard in that moment that you’d been able to touch her and press just how badly you needed her into her skin.

You part ways with a small smile and a wave in her direction. She bites her lip, watching you with that quiet intensity you’ve more than gotten used to and even though you’ve only known her for less than three months, it feels like so much longer. It feels like she’s always been a part of your life. But for the first time since you came back from the war you’ve been able to breathe and that blessed relief comes at the hands of an enigma. You wonder once again how things got to be so messed up.

***

“Come on L, you promised us you would try and enjoy yourself, you never know you when you might meet someone,” LaFontaine scolds you the moment you walk through the doors of the already packed bar. It’s ladies night and not for the first time this evening do you curse your inability to say no. It’s Danny’s birthday next week, so LaF and Perry took it upon themselves to celebrate with a trip to your favorite bar. Well it used to be your favorite, before the military, it was a simpler life back then.

You take the glass Danny presses into your hand, an automatic reaction but you’re glad for something to do. You feel so out of place here among the living. Danny watches you with concerned eyes and you have to physically choke back the sigh. You love Danny, just like you love LaF and Perry, but she has a way of looking at you like you’re a disobedient child when you’re anything but. You killed a man once, he was hardly more than a boy, she really shouldn’t worry so much about you.

Your hand tightens on the cold glass and you allow yourself to feel the chill emanating from it. It helps to control the rush of memories that threaten their way in. You close your eyes and breath in deep, running through the exercises Carmilla taught you. It helps. She helps. You wish you were with her tonight, instead of being here, you just hope moving your session with her is worth it. You haven’t felt right since Monday, your body still on edge waiting for a release that you worry will never come. Quite literally. You wonder does she know that she’s done this to you?

“So Laura, tell us how you’re getting on with Carmilla. Do you think the sessions are helping?” Perry asks in her mothering way, pinky raised as she sips daintily on her gin and tonic. LaF’s smug face grins back at you from Perry’s side and you almost laugh at how ridiculous your friends are.

“Yeah Laura, tell us how the Mistress of Pain is doing?” Danny asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“It’s Master, and she’s fine thank you,” You smile at the group of redheads watching you, always watching like you’re about to just fall apart. Maybe one day you’ll give them a reason to believe that you won’t. “It’s been really good, I’ve been getting much better at controlling things,” you add, voice much lower than before eyes fixed on the drink in your hand. You raise it to your lips, fingers trembling faintly, swallowing a huge mouthful you relish in the taste of JD and Coke.

“That’s good Laura, really good,” LaF’s uncharacteristic seriousness means more to you than you ever could have thought. Your lips twitch in her direction, a shy yet sincere smile conveying all the words you’ll never be able to say. Your friends might drive you nuts but they mean well, they only want the best for you. They only want you to be happy.

“Enough about this,” Danny exclaims with an exaggerated sigh and push of her hand through her hair. “SJ and Natalie are meeting us in an hour and I for one don’t plan on being sober when they finally get here,” her words are met with a general air of agreement. Although you don’t like drinking to get drunk, maybe slipping away to a part of oblivion is just what you need. Maybe it’ll make you forgot about the way your veins still feel like they’re dripping electric fire. For that reason alone, you down the rest of your drink and follow Danny to the bar.

By the time SJ and Natalie show up, you’re well into your third JD and you have a few shots under your tiny belt as well. You feel buzzed, the good kind, you know you’re approaching your limit and despite wanting to forget it all you have never been that kind of person. Besides the bar is getting more and more crowded and they’ve turned the music up. It’s loud and it’s hot and it’s taking all of your self control not to run. This is a situation that you know could trigger you, but you loved going out with your friends before Afghanistan, you don’t want that desert getting all of you again.

When the cute brunette that had been making eyes at you all night from across the bar finally works up the courage to dance a little closer to you, you welcome her advances. You have felt so undesirable for so long, but Carmilla, your master, has had a profound affect on the way you think about yourself. You know it’s part of the role she has to play for your therapy but it’s working and you’re okay with that.

The brunette is very pretty, only a little bit taller than you which in itself is a miracle, she shuffles awkwardly to your side and it’s nice knowing that you’re not the only person who is a monumental dork at times. You ask her name to be polite, but the club is so loud you can barely make it out. You think it begins with an R, but you’re not sure. It matters little, you have no intentions of going home with her but it’s nice to be wanted.

She offers to buy you a drink and you let her, knowing that it’s probably going to push you over the edge of what you consider to be enough. But you don’t care, you want to be normal, even if it’s only for tonight. You drink your poison and allow your hips to undulate against hers as you dance, the bass thrumming through your soul.

It’s no surprise then that you end up pressing her against the wall about an hour later, they’re about to sound last call, and you’re way past tipsy and feeling so on edge that you just need something. The brunette is so responsive, curling her fingers around your waist to tuck your thighs against hers, mouths bumping together messily in a kiss that is equal parts exploration and equal parts need. She’s cute, she’s obviously interested and you’re sick of feeling empty. The only time you don’t now is when you’re being punished and used by Carmilla.

The girl gasps and your tongue slides between her lips, massaging the grooves on the inside of her mouth. You slide your thigh between her legs pushing forward taking the reins for a change. You’re a 50/50 kind of girl, but with Carmilla it’s always bottom even though you always get what you want. It’s nice in its on way to be in charge for a change.

The girl’s hands move, fist in your hair and she drags you almost painfully closer to her face. Your own hands travel a path from her hips to the sides of her breasts, her waist curvy and supple in your hands. But despite how nice the kiss is, and how willing she is, you’re just not feeling it. You’re trying so hard to, but despite the rush you get at taking charge, there is just no spark there.

The brunette hooks her leg around yours and flips you round, reversing your positions so that you’re the one pressed against the wall, her body flush against yours. You close your eyes and try so desperately to feel something other than a mild stirring of desire that is your bodies way of assuring you that you’re not dead, but you’re just not ready.

You open your eyes when the lights of the bar suddenly flick on, dousing drunk patrons in bright obnoxious light. Last call is evidently served. The brunette pulls away from you with a shaky laugh, her breath mingling with yours. But with her weight on your ribs and her hands on your face and neck it’s not the stranger you were just kissing that you see. It’s Betty, and her soulless dead eyes that stare back at you. Dammit, fucking dammit.

You pull away from the girl, separating the connection and the discomfort you hadn’t even realized that you were feeling during the entirety of your kiss completely disappears. She was a nice girl, a good kisser, but you’re not ready. You’re not ready to feel desire with anyone else, only Carmilla can provide that and you need that stability right now.

You’re only vaguely aware of wishing the girl good night, practically running in the direction of your waiting friends knowing that you can’t stay with her a single second longer or you’ll go mad from the guilt of not being what she’ll ever need. Danny holds your coat out for you when you reach them, open mouth falling shut when she see’s the look on your face. You’re not ready to talk about it.

You climb into bed that night almost completely sobered up, and the soft cotton sheets provide little comfort for your twisted emotions. You think about the kiss and the brunette, she was a nice girl and in an ideal world you’re sure you would have asked for her number. But this isn’t an ideal world, she isn’t raven haired and so impossibly beautiful that she steals your breath.

She isn’t your master, she isn’t Carmilla, and it’s with that worrying realization that you finally succumb to sleep. That night you don’t dream of Betty’s lifeless body, you dream of dark eyes filled with a delirious fire that smolders against your skin as you come around pale black polish tipped fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> badaax.tumblr.com


	5. Resist at First and Then Immerse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello gentle viewers, I must firstly apologise for the lengthy wait between updates. A combination of travelling, Iceland, travelling and postgraduate research left me with little free time this past week or so. Regularly scheduling resumes this week (not that it's ever been regular). 
> 
> Thanks once again for the comments and kudos, I love reading what you guys have to say and honestly creampuffs are just so nice. 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.
> 
> TW: PTSD, Military Situations, Sexual Situations

You’re going to miss your deadline. You clearly shouldn’t have stayed up binging Orphan Black season 3 for the fifth time. Now you’re frantically trying to finish your latest article on bike safety for the local newspaper. It wasn’t what you had imagined doing with your life, in those dark times when you’re being honest with yourself, you’re almost a little disappointed.

Once upon a time you had wanted to be an investigative journalist. You wanted to fight evil and live in a world where good always triumphed. But then you went to war and you realized that the world isn’t black and white, it’s grey, and dirty and so, so ugly. There is no good and evil, no hero in a shiny cape, no two hearted man in his police box. It’s just split second decisions and that dull, never-ending grey that coats the world in all its horrid splendor.

You learnt, that it’s the people around you who bring color. LaF and Perry are the green’s, like towering forests and endless meadows. They are the roots that you have grown around. Kirsch is blue, like an ocean, like a summer sky, he’s the calm and the fun and the crazy your life seems to lack. Danny, well Danny is the red. Like warm fire and the coat of an Irish setter dog. She’s loyalty and wisdom, strength and bravery, without her life would be so much emptier. It’s the colors that make life what it is. You get that now, it’s not good and evil but all the things in between.

Then there is Carmilla. Before her, the colors just weren’t as vibrant, everything felt fuzzy and out of sync. But now? Now Carmilla is the rainbow, the promise of security and the awe of fearsome beauty. She scares you and enthralls you in equal measure. You learnt the hard way that there is no such thing as good and evil, only people, stupid, tiny people and their flaws. But it’s the choices you make that define you. You chose to go to war, to be friends with Betty, to kill that boy. You chose to come back home and you chose to go to Carmilla. The choices might not always make sense but that doesn't mean they aren’t important.

So you sit in the middle of a sagging sofa, in your favorite coffee shop because it is too quiet at home, clutching a hot chocolate with three extra sugars because you can never have enough and you desperately try to finish your article. It just needs proof read and tightened up. But you’re a perfectionist and it’s the little things that trip you up the most. You sigh roughly, blowing hair out of your face before your free hand swipes through it once more. It’s a nervous habit that you should probably break at some stage. But it’s a luxury now to wear your hair down, in the military it was always scrapped back.

“Laura?” The voice that calls your name makes you choke on your hot chocolate. Scalding liquid tries to enter your windpipe before it is rejected. You cough, spluttering stupidly as tears stream from your eyes. It’s not fair. Not fair at all when you look up at the owner of that voice. Carmilla Karnstein stares back at you with a raised eyebrow and a salacious smirk gracing her sinfully red lips.

“You good there cupcake?” She asks, and holy Hufflepuff does she look so good right now. Carmilla, _Master_ , in normal clothes in the middle of a semi-busy coffee shop on a Sunday afternoon, is a sight to behold. She’s wearing a black leather biker style jacket, ripped black skinny jeans, scuffed black combat boots and a lacy black shirt. She personifies punk Goth chick and boy does it work for her.

“Yup good,” You wheeze, cursing your inability to remain cool for even half a second. Well this woman has seen you at your worst, what’s some hot chocolate dribbling from your nose?

“I’m sure you are. What brings you to this fine establishment this afternoon?” She asks, voice sultry and smooth and you know if you closed your eyes you would imagine her fingers on your skin and her mouth against yours. Your eyes remain firmly open because this is not the time or the place for that.

“I’m trying to make my deadline,” You say with a sheepish grin, hands curling around the sides of your laptop. She watches you for a second, and then smiles, it’s heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Ahh, I see. Well then I shall leave you too it, good day Miss Hollis,” She says, fingers tipping an imaginary cap before sliding into the pockets on her jacket. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth as she turns to leave. You’re almost desperate when you finally manage to shout after her. You don’t think, you just let words leave your mouth and you’ll worry about them later.

“Wait, um, don’t go. Why don’t you stay for a bit,” You say the final words with a lifting tilt to your voice, almost as if you asked it as a question. It was a stupid thing to say, you know that. Why would Carmilla want to waste an afternoon with you, but you’d have hated yourself all day if you hadn’t said anything. So now you wait with bated breath for an answer that you know is coming.

“Well, I had planned on reading my book. Perhaps I could do that while you finish your work. Some company would be nice,” She says and your heart skips a little. Well that is a surprise. She doesn't want to leave you, she wants to spend time with you. You’re not sure what this means and to be honest you don’t care. Carmilla is the psychologist here, not you, you just want to enjoy a beautiful woman’s company. Even if you are frantically reading through your own abysmal article, you’re your own worst critic after all.  

“I would like that,” You say, sliding to the left and clearing a space for her bag on the floor at your feet. “I’ll get you a coffee,” you say digging your wallet out of your pocket but she stops you with another sinful smirk.

“There’s no need, I know the proprietor, I get free coffee here,” She says indicating the woman standing behind the register who you know from previous visits is the owner of the coffee shop. Your mouth drops in a silent ‘o’, the owner is beautiful and it’s not the first time you’ve thought that. Suddenly pieces click together.

“Oh, was she, is she a-a friend of yours?” You ask cursing your awkwardness. You should just come out and ask does she dominate her too. But that seems too personal a question when it’s really none of your business, and besides, Carmilla seems so human right now, so unlike the master you’ve come to know that you don’t want to be reminded of her life outside of her therapy. The whole dom/sub thing she has going on.

“She is a former client. A traditional one before you ask,” She says watching you with those dark eyes and you nod in response. You don’t trust your voice because you don’t trust yourself. You don’t trust your body’s reaction. You don’t trust your relief. Because why on earth should you feel relieved at that? It’s none of your goddamn business.

“Oh, that’s nice,” You say with a shrug, fingers tightening around your rapidly cooling drink. Carmilla sighs beside you before shifting in her seat. She slides her coat from her shoulders, strong arms coming into view and you swallow the resultant waive of moisture that invades your mouth. Those arms, those hands, those fingers have done some nasty things to you and that should make you uncomfortable, but for some reason it doesn't.

“You’re supposed to be working on your story creampuff and I get so little free time, I plan on finishing this book,” She says gesturing to the paperback now clutched between beautifully manicured fingers. Your eyes glance down at your own nails, bitten stubs another nervous little habit of yours.

“What book are you reading?” You ask after a few moments of easy silence. You never knew silence could be nice, you normally have to fill them, but Carmilla is a retrospective person and with a job that demands her to always been filling the spaces, silence is a luxury for her. You know all about the little victories. Getting out of bed each day is one for you.

She nods at the waitress who places a coffee in front of her, and to your surprise another hot chocolate in front of you. You take it gratefully, the heat seeping through your palms and seemingly straight into your soul.

“I’m reading Sophie’s World. Have you heard of it?” She asks taking a sip of her drink, a cappuccino judging by the amount of froth. You watch almost spellbound as her tongue swipes at the foam left behind on her upper lift. _Breathe Hollis_ , you tell yourself, trying not to think about what that tongue has done to you in the past. You force yourself to meet her eyes, the knowing look in them making heat rise to your cheeks. You try not to feel like a naughty child, but it’s difficult.

“Sophie’s World,” You say clearing your voice with a short cough. “That's that Norwegian book about the fourteen year old philosophy student?” 

She nods, eyes dancing happily and you can tell you’ve impressed her with your mastery of useless trivia. It came up a lot in crosswords you and Betty used to spend time completing in base camp.

“Yup, I’m a bit a of a philosophy connoisseur if you will,” She says, resting back against the threadbare cushions.

“Philosophy? I thought you were a psychologist?” You ask with a smile and you know you aren’t the only one surprised at how easy it is between you. This woman knows you intimately and you’ve let her take you sexually to places you didn’t know existed but yet there is something so right about this moment. She’s not your master, she’s Carmilla, she’s the person you see when all is said and done and she holds you as you both come down from your highs.

Pillow talk is one of the best things about your sessions with Carmilla. When she lets you call her Carm and you get to see the woman behind the beast, it’s almost more therapeutic than the sex itself. You hope she knows how much you appreciate her making that a part of your routine. You can kid yourself in those moments that you’re not paying her to make you better, that it’s real and not just a job. You need the realism, it’s the thing that helps the most. It’s the color of gold in the grey and you need that.

“Well I wasn’t always so interested in peoples minds. Philosophy has always fascinated me. It’s the fundamental questions like why are we here, why do we exist, what is our purpose, there’s something so raw about questions like that,” You’re not much of a philosopher yourself, you’ve always been a more rational person. But hearing Carmilla talk about it, you suddenly find yourself asking questions. Who is Carmilla? Why is she here? What is she to you?

“You’re supposed to be working,” She says after a few moments, you’d watched her and she’d watched you and the unspoken words that fell between you felt like connection. You feel like you know your master better, you understand her better, she says little and yet so much all at the same time. You’re getting awfully good at reading in between the lines.

You turn your attention back to your work. Your fingers flying over the keys as you slowly absorb yourself in the task at hand. Carmilla’s presence is heavy beside you but it doesn't feel awkward. She just sips at her coffee and quietly turns the pages of her book.

An hour passes much to your surprise but you are finally finished. You attach the document to your email and send it to your editor, feeling accomplished. You stretch your arms above your head and lay back against the sofa. Carmilla glances sideways at you and you smile at her, it’s a little lazy and you feel triumphant. You always feel like this after you complete an assignment.

Carmilla carefully folds the corner of her book and stows it safely in her bag. She pulls on her jacket and stands and all you can do is sit and watch and wish that it was always this way.

“I’ll see you on Wednesday Miss Hollis. Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” Carmilla says, waving a hand in the direction of the storeowner before leveling you once more with that unwavering gaze of hers.

“Thanks Carm, I’ll see you then,” You say and the smile on her face broadens ever so slightly. Then she is gone in a swish of Shea butter and leather. You watch the door knowing that she’s not coming back but for the first time in a long time you don’t think about your problems. You only feel content. Wednesday is so far away but you can hardly wait.

***

You practically skip into Room 307 the following Wednesday evening. You’ve been feeling great since the improtu meeting between you and Carmilla on Sunday and for the past few days you’ve been riding the high that is Carmilla’s presence in your life. A little sad maybe but it’s working for you.

You even helped LaF and Perry decorate their spare bedroom, and you hate decorating. It was nice being with the people who give your grey world its color and not worrying about how your mind was going to ruin the experience. Maybe this is what healing is. Maybe it has to be hard, because when it gets better, it gets so much better.

Carmilla is waiting for you in her usual position. Draped casually across the chaise lounge that adorns the small room that guards the entrance to her bedroom. This is your Master’s domain and you willing submit yourself to it. She doesn't ask you to remove your clothes. You know what is expected of you by now. Your hands no longer shake as you strip, but they do linger on the scars on your leg as you kneel. You try no to be self conscious about it, but it’s a hard habit to break.

Carmilla says nothing, simply watches you, a smirk twitching on her lips, her fingers flexing against the silk robe she always wears. She stands swiftly and approaches you, fingers curling around your chin to raise your eyes to hers. She’s so beautiful and just the mere thought of what she has in store for you this evening is enough to make you practically overflow.

She lowers her head, pressing soft lips against yours and you sigh into her mouth. You love the way she kisses you, it’s gentle and rough, hungry and sated, calm and chaotic all at once and she makes you feel like you two are the only people in the world. That's how you will approach tonight, like it’s just you and her and no one else.

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck, fisting in your hair, which, she likes you to wear, tied back. Not in the strict military style but one that allows her to grip your head and manipulate it to her desires. She tugs you upwards with it and you rise, following her like a lost puppy into the adjoining room, smiling despite the seriousness written onto her face.

She pushes you onto the bed and straddles your hips, pushing your hands above your head, her fingers entwining with yours. Her still covered breasts press against yours, but you can feel her nipples through the silk and her groin is hot and wet were it presses into your lower abdomen. She’s naked underneath that robe and the thought pulls a groan from your lips.

She leans into you, presses her mouth against yours and your whole head spins. It’s hot and so, so very good and you try to match her intensity, you only hope you succeed. She pulls back and saliva coats your chin, yours, hers, it doesn't matter. Only the desire in her eyes does and the knowledge that you can help her with that.

She slides off you, the robe dropping to the ground and you have to bite your lip to stifle your cry of delight. She is naked. Bare. Beautiful. Your eyes follow her around the room and even though she hasn’t uttered a single word to you, she’s speaking volumes right now. Maybe that’s a whole other world of philosophy you should delve into. The mystery that is your master, that is Carmilla Karnstein. She knows so much about you and you know so very little about her, but right now you know enough to know that she needs you, wants you, wants to make you hers. You’re more than ready for that to happen.

She selects handcuffs today, fixes each wrist to a bedpost and smiles like a predator at your helplessness. She settles herself on the bed beside you, her feet pressing into your left armpit, her thigh flush against your waist. It’s such a strange way for her to sit. But she watches you carefully and then her left hand drops to your pussy and her fingers are trailing through your clipped pelvic hairs and suddenly her position makes so much more sense.

You strain against your bonds, lifting your hips in an effort to get her fingers drop a bit lower, touch that part of you that craves her like a drug.

“Behave cutie,” She chides lightly, fingers smacking against your clit in a gesture that is both painful and erotic. Who knew pain could be such a turn on? Who knew that even after all the pain you suffered in war that you would welcome it now. It’s such a strange world and you’re alive and living and that’s a more precious gift than any you’ve ever received. Carmilla’s dark eyes breathe new life and colors you couldn't even dream off suddenly become a reality.

Her fingers slide upwards, pressing against the solid muscle of your abdomen, before reaching your breasts, hands curving around soft mounds, nipples hardening beneath her warmth.

“You are a very beautiful woman Miss Hollis, I hope you understand that,” She says and although you want to deny it, there is something so sincere about the strength in her voice and the intensity in her eyes that you don’t.

“Thank you Master. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” You say and you mean it. It was a stupid thing to say, but it’s the truth and not one that you feel like hiding.

“When was the last time you flashed Miss Hollis,” Carmilla asks you the question the same time her fingers pinch and twist your nipples and your answer comes with a pained gasp.

“Nearly three weeks ago,” You say body humming and on fire from Carmilla’s touch. Her feet stroke along your arm and your desire almost floods out of you. You didn’t think it was possible to be wetter than you already are. Carmilla Karnstein constantly pushing the misconceptions you had of yourself.

“Three weeks?” Carmilla asks and suddenly your brain catches up with you, unease plucking at the heat running through you. “You told me you flashed last Saturday evening, that was why you wanted your Wednesday session moved to Monday instead of just having the Friday session.”

“Yeah I did,” You say slowly, remembering the desperate little lie you told not thinking it would ever come back to haunt you. You hadn’t wanted to see her just once a week, you hadn’t seen the harm. You’d come at her mercy that day and left feeling so strange and it had taken almost all week to get over that feeling.

“So Miss Hollis, did you flash last Saturday or has it really been three weeks?” She’s stopped touching you, moving her body away from you and the cold left in her absence makes you shiver. You swallow thickly and you think about continuing with the lie, but the look in her eyes frightens you. So you don’t.

“It’s been three weeks Master. I just said that so you would move my session,” You say softly, and you’re ashamed of yourself. You sound pathetic and needy and that annoys you more than you could ever have thought. Carmilla’s jaw tightens angrily and her fingers curl into fists.

“Why did you lie to me?” She asks, voice low and dangerous and you know you’ve messed this up. You wish you could sit up, touch her, pull her into your arms and tell her that you didn’t mean to upset her. But you can’t, because your master has you chained to her bed and you are nothing but a pawn in this game. “Why, Miss Hollis?” She demands, her hand moving, nails scraping against your stomach.

“I wanted to see you. I couldn’t wait a whole week,” You say, looking away from her, eyes fixing on the closed bedroom door and the dark red wallpaper on the walls. Carmilla sighs loudly and the hand she had clenched against your stomach relaxes, fingers soothing the red lines she left there with her scratch.

“It doesn't work like that Laura, if you want to get better then you have to be honest with me,” She begins in a strangely quiet voice, one that lacks the sultry dominance you’ve come to associate with this room. “I’m not going to question why you did it, because I would hate to think it’s because of dependency. The point of this whole exercise is for you to strengthen yourself, not grow dependent on me. If you cant separate yourself from that then we can’t do this. I’m not your crutch Laura, I’m the cure.”

You close your eyes against the sting of tears. She sounds so disappointed in you and you know it was stupid. You’re not growing dependent, you want to tell her that, but emotion is raw in your throat and you’re having trouble keeping it together. Carmilla runs her thumb along your waist and the gesture makes your skin prickle. Its part desire and part relief that she still wants to touch you.

“I know, you’re right and I’m sorry. I know why I’m here, it won’t happen again Master,” You say, turning back to look at her, barely able to see through the film of tears now coating your eyes. Her thumb catches one as it falls, but there is no gentleness in her face. Only confidence and you know its dominant Carmilla that is running the show now and you’re sure it’s going to cost you.

“You’re damn right it won’t. I cannot stress how important this is Miss Hollis,” Carmilla says and you get it. You can’t compromise your recovery because you’re getting a crush on your therapist. But Carmilla is far from finished with you. “Now instead of punishing you, which is, something I think you would enjoy just a little too much,” She pauses and her words make you blush, yes the thought of her crop or her hands marking you wasn’t as much of a deterrent as you used to think.

“I’m going to touch myself, I’m going to run my hands over my body, I’m going to rub my clit, tease it, caress it, make love to it. I’m going to slip my fingers inside of myself, I’m going to bring myself pleasure. I’m going to make myself come,” You’re panting now, her words painting the most vivid picture in your head and it will be pure torture watching her do the things you wish you were doing to her. “You will watch, you will remain silent and you will not come. Do I make myself clear? This is for me to enjoy, me and me alone. You don’t deserve this, you belong to me right now and I set the rules. Not you. Don’t forget that Miss Hollis. You will leave here today unfulfilled because that is my right as your Master.”

You nod sadly and watch as she moves to straddle you, holding herself up over your breasts, giving you an incredible view of her already aroused core and her pale skin stretching above you. She starts with her hands on her breasts, fingers twisting and pulling in the way she had taught you to pleasure her. She gasps, moans gently and you feel it right in your own center.

She slides one hand up to her mouth, licking her fingers diligently, before sliding it down her body, between her breasts, over her firm stomach and then over her shaved pubic mound and finally reaching her clit. You track the wet trail with your eyes, straining against your bonds in an effort to touch her.

“Master please let me touch you,” You gasp, beg, wishing it was your hands, your mouth, your body that was making her eyes grow black with desire. She silences you with a single look and those tears, those tears of disappointment come back and this time they are of frustration.

You don’t understand, you can’t, you are here to pleasure her. Without her you are nothing and you understand it now, you understand the hold a dominant has over their submissive. Her power is given to you when you freely submit, when she lets you pleasure herself with your body and when she pleasures you in return. But this is pure torture. She is the only participant and it is driving you insane.

It is a fitting punishment, fitting for the lies that you told and continue to tell yourself. Dependent she said, that can’t be true, you just want to please her, surely that’s not wrong?

She gasps and the metal cuffs bite the skin on your wrists. You told her she was the most beautiful person you had ever seen, but beautiful doesn't cover it. Not when she’s flushed pink and her head is thrown back in free abandon. Her fingers are relentless just as she promised, she rubs herself furiously, hips thrusting in time with her touch.

Her other hand joins the fray, two fingers dipping in deep, squelching and squishing as her desire overflows and falls, landing on your breasts and your chest. And fuck is that hot. You’re whimpering, it’s pathetic but so was your need to lie to her. It’s a lesson you’ll not forget soon.

She’s in another place, her gasps staccato in her throat and you are so jealous of her own fingers wishing that it was you that she was using so violently. You’re hot and almost feverish just watching her. You could come, come so easy watching her and you fear that you will the longer she teases herself.

“Oh fuck yes, I’m coming. Don’t you dare,” She mercifully croaks, fingers a blur as she thrusts them inside of herself. You know the exact moment she tips over the edge because you’ve seen it so often now, you’ve been the cause of so many and it’s pure agony that you’re not the cause now.

Her whole body stiffens and the muscles in her neck stretch taut. She grunts, a noise that makes your whole world shiver as you frantically fight to follow her commands. You know coming now would be very, very bad.

She rides her high, pumping her hips sporadically. She finally falls still, collapsing in on herself, body draped across yours. Her neck presses against your mouth and you can’t help yourself, you kiss it, worship it with your tongue tasting her sweat and nipping at it with your teeth. She shudders in your arms and your whole body screams for release. You know you won’t get any tonight. But that’s Master’s prerogative, she gets to decide what you feel.

Carmilla slips her hands out of herself and when she offers her fingers to you, you don’t hesitate, you draw wet digits into your mouth and groan at the taste of her. She watches you as you hungrily suck her fingers, it’s all you’ll get and you’ll take it.

“Good girl,” She says a little breathlessly, pulling her fingers free. She smiles sleepily at you, moving methodically to release your hands. You hesitate for a second before you wrap your arms around her, clinging to her sweat slickened skin and loving the way she still trembles with after shocks in your arms.

She lets you hold her, lets you take what little pleasure you can in that small victory. When she finally pulls back and removes herself, you feel more human and less like a desperate animal. She’d left you on edge and you still burn and hurt from feeling so unsatisfied. But her embrace grounded you again, and even though it makes you weak, you can wait.

“I hope you’ve learnt your lesson. This doesn't work Laura if you lie to me, I’d hate for this to end prematurely. I enjoy our sessions,” She says with a heady smile that you feel the whole way down to your toes. She stands up, slipping on her robe before pulling you to your feet. Just like last Monday and your session on Friday she helps you dress. It’s quickly becoming a ritual and you like it, you like the intimacy, the normalcy. 

She commands the buttons of your shirt and you fasten your belt. She tugs your hair out of the tie and helps you flatten it around your face again. She kisses you, pressing her lips against your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids, the center of your forehead and there is something so gentle and intimate about it all that it scares you to hell and pleases you in equal measure.

She escorts you to the door and despite the disappointment you felt at lying to her and being discovered, despite not getting the release your body craved. You are happy, you are just Laura right now and not Laura the victim. You won’t lie to her again because you agree with her, you don’t want this to end and it validates everything you’ve been thinking that she wants the same. She pulls the door open for you but you don’t take your eyes from her, you’re not ready to lose the contact yet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was a little early, I didn’t realize you weren’t alone Master,” It is a clipped voice that pulls you out of your own head and firmly back into crushing reality. Carmilla freezes beside you, the hand that was planted against the small of your back, tense and unyielding.

Your eyes latch onto the woman now standing in front of you in the doorway, a stranger that you’ve never seen before, but you know instantly who, or rather what she is. She’s one of Carmilla’s subs. One of the real ones, not the pseudo creature you’ve come to think of yourself as. She looks expensive, this woman, this part of Carmilla’s life you have no right knowing about.

She’s wearing a crisp Italian suit, skirt clinging to long thigh high clad legs. Her shirt beneath her fitted blazer is pink and white stripped and fits her like a glove. She screams high flyer and from what limited knowledge you have of the BDSM community, you know dominant women often become submissive in the bedroom, craving a master in the one aspect of their lives that they don’t have to fight for. You’d bet good money she is one of those women.

She eyes you up like you’re a bug, an insect that she wishes to crush beneath her ridiculously expensive 4-inch heel. You know how you must look to her, clad in an old sweater, faded shirt and worn skinny black jeans, you hardly look like a catwalk model.

You’ve never cared that much about how you look, but this woman makes you feel insignificant. It’s horrible. The realization that is, the realization that if you didn’t know Carmilla professionally in the most carnal of senses that this is how she would look at you too. Like some sort of organism that needed to be pitied. Well the pity party left the station a while back and now you will not be cowed by a suit.

You stand tall, or as tall as your tiny stature will let you. But then height is relative. You step away from Carmilla’s tensed hand, your own fingers curling into fists, face fixing itself into the stone cold glaze you perfected for your drill sergeants.

“Yes you are early, we’ll deal with the punishment of that later. Go, strip and kneel by the door while I escort Miss Hollis out,” Carmilla’s voice is cold, too cold, almost guttural. You curse your self even as you break your own rigid control to look at her, chilled by the dark, angry look in her eyes. She watches as the expensive woman throws an uncertain look in your direction before she acquiesces to her Masters demands. Her Master, not yours, not ever really.

Carmilla’s hand grips your wrist and you know it’s to stop you from leaving. You get that this is part of the game, you’re not sure if it’s a move on your board or the poor kneeling woman now naked and bared before both of you. She is really beautiful, all curves and pure, wholesome skin. This is a woman who sits behind a desk and has never known hardship. You are a military jarhead with scar-riddled skin and a wilting gait. You tell yourself that you’re being ridiculous because it’s true you are. You are not jealous of this woman, who now watches Carmilla with a yearning so acute you wonder if you could actually physically touch it.

It’s stupid because Carmilla has never made any secret of the nature of your relationship or the other relationships in her life. She told you herself that she is polyamorous when it comes to her sexual endeavors; she’d delivered that speech with a straight face and a reassurance that you didn’t have to worry about your sexual health. She was very careful not to carry anything back down the chain.

The air in the room is suddenly stifling, filling with the scent of someone else’s desire and you need out. It’s hot, too hot and your head swims, the heat reminds you of the desert and you’re pathetically aware that the sweat beading on your upper lip and along your spine has nothing to do with Carmilla’s new guest and everything to do with an approaching flash. You’d been so good too. All that hard work undone because you’re an idiot. The lie all for nothing.

You close your eyes, blocking out the room, blocking out everything but the pounding of blood in your head and the feel of Carmilla’s warm hand wrapped around cooling skin. You breathe deep through your nose and release in an unsteady exhale. _You’re safe_ , you tell yourself hoping that you’ll believe it. You’re annoyed at yourself for allowing this situation to trigger your PTSD, it’s the unknown, the lack of control that has got to you.

Your eyes open as Carmilla’s fingers squeeze your wrist in an infuriatingly comforting gesture.

“Where did you go?” She asks, voice low and you know that your little episode hasn’t gone unnoticed. You’ve fought it off, but for how long you’re not sure, you just want out of this situation as quickly as possible.

“Nowhere,” You say and your tongue feels far too big and far too dry for your own mouth. Carmilla’s lips tighten in displeasure, her eyebrows creasing together, a beautiful frown falling onto her normally unreadable face.

“I don’t believe you. Do you need to talk about it?” She asks and you almost think about saying yes, because talking with Carmilla really does help. You tell her about your life when you’re lying in her arms, after she’s brought you to indescribable heights. Why should now be different? But one quick glance into the room at the curious glance of that haughty, gorgeous woman is enough to have you desperate to flee.

“Nope, I’m good. The breathing techniques really do work,” You say with as much false bravado as you can muster. It’s not a lot because you sound hollow and wrong even to your own ears. “I should be going, you are clearly supposed to be busy,” You finish that statement of with a laugh and a glance towards the kneeling woman. Carmilla’s frown deepens and she doesn't look away from your face. 

“Laura I think we need to talk about this. I’m not sure what has trigged you, and I don’t think you should leave right now,” She says with a little more urgency than you expected. You suppress the sigh that wells up from deep inside of you. She’s your therapist. She may fuck the problems out of you, but she’s still your therapist. She’s also a dom, a dom with an incredibly hot naked woman waiting for her to own.

You’re so mad at yourself right now for being so ridiculous in the first place. You will not be making this mistake again.

“I’m perfectly fine Carmilla. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go, your appointment is waiting for you,” There is a little bite to your words and you know you’re going to pay for that in your next session but you don’t care. You’ve embarrassed yourself and it’s time to put the walls back up.

You might want to know who Carmilla really is, but that feeling is not mutual. She will always be just your therapist. You will have to be content with that. But you’d been lying to yourself if you said that the thought of her being with another woman, hitting her, owning her, drowning herself in her doesn't make you feel sick. But then this was never about how you felt, this was always about getting your head back together.

You leave with Carmilla’s eyes boring a hole into your back and you curse that you can’t walk as strong as you once did. Your leg hurts from lack of use and you walk with a slight limp. Your scars are your badges of honor but right now they feel like a death sentence.

You ignore the burn behind your eyes because this isn’t happening. You are not jealous. You are not pining after her. You are not falling into this trap. But all you can focus on is that you’re still not very good at lying to yourself.

She’s right though, she’s always right. You’ve grown dependent and that was never the point of the game, but you’ve already lost and you’re really not sure how to feel about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> badaax.tumblr.com


	6. I'll Numb the Pain, 'til I am Made of Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all once again! I bring you another chapter of the Laura has PTSD AU. I decided that for this weeks foray into Laura's mind that we would move away from the Hollstangst, or at least as much as I can. But then again I could be luring you all into a false sense of stangstcurity, so who knows? Because I certainly don't. 
> 
> Thanks again for the comments and the love, it's really awesome and I love the fact that some many people are enjoying this story. 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

You’re nervous. Really, really nervous. Like think Harry Potter sitting with the sorting hat on nervous. It’s 1803 hours and you’re officially 3 minutes late for your Friday evening “appointment” with your _Master_. But in the past 48 hours, you’ve lost the ability to even so much as think her name, because that only gives validity to the emotions running through you.

She’s bound to be pissed as it is. You left with attitude during your last session, you ignored the email she sent asking for an update on your wellness and now you’re late. You’ve never been late before. You’re always early or at least on time. Being late actually bothers you, but you’re not sorry this time. She’s going to want to punish you and you need that. You’ve felt so on edge since the last session, you’re not sure if was because of the session’s content or the events that occurred after it, but something has changed. You’re not certain of the script anymore and adlibbing can only take you so far.

You haven’t mentioned it to anyone, because frankly, you’re a little embarrassed by the whole thing. Once you went home, drank half a bottle of bourbon and allowed yourself to debrief the incident you realized just how stupid you’d been. Carmilla was right, you’d relied on the dependency and you’d enjoyed it. But she isn’t supposed to make you swoon, she’s supposed to make you feel and she has. She has and it’s helped. You were the one who let yourself get carried away.

You don’t know her. You know nothing about her except that she’s a really, really good therapist and an even better lover. But there is no love here, only a transaction between two consenting adults. You pay her for her services, you pay by the hour just like all her other patients. Note the word patients. You tell yourself this and as your fingers curl tighter on the steering wheel of your car you believe it. That’s a thought that strangely hurts.

Carmilla has never made any secret of the fact that she enjoys a different lifestyle than you’re used to. She enjoys a polyamorous lifestyle with numerous submissive partners, you know that she’s a confident Dom who enjoys her sexual liaisons as much as her day job. You’ll never have the guts to ask does it make her happy but who are you to judge. You’re the one that was so broken you needed her in the first place. She’s beautiful and smart and engaging and in an ideal world she’s exactly the kind of woman you know you would never fall for, because she’s just not real. She’d never look twice at you, never see past the scars to see you. If you hadn’t sought her out, she’d never have cared less. But she does care. She wants you to get better and you want to let her help. 

You sigh heavily, eyes watching the curtained windows of Room 307 carefully. She’s in there now, waiting for you, waiting and you want so badly to go to her. But your brain needs a pep talk, a warning that you are not to get any more involved than you already are. Seeing her with another sub at your last session just hit home how crazy this whole situation is.

Obviously you’re not in love with Carmilla, you don’t know her, you’re not even sure how much you want to. But you like to entertain the notion that one day you could be more than just this mess that needs her as a cure. 

But the last thing you need is to fall for a woman who is A) your therapist, B) Polyamorist, which kinda stands against everything your one woman at a time heart believes in, C) Emotionally distant and so very different from the women you’ve dated in the past and D) Not available. The inexplicable jealousy you felt last week is understandable. As was your body’s reaction. But it’s been a valuable lesson, your heart isn’t in play here, only your mind and body are. You get your sanity back and if you get to have a little fun along the way then so be it. Carmilla Karnstein is off limits.

It’s with these words that you feel safe enough to exit your beat up little JEEP. You practically march to the door of Room 307, shoulders back and your head raised. The door is unlocked but the small waiting area is empty. Elsie leaves early on a Friday and you know from past experience that you are Carmilla’s last appointment. But then you don’t know who she’s meeting with after, but that concerns you not, so you’ll ignore it in favor of the now.

You walk through the walls of the house almost silently until you reach the door that you know _she_ is behind. Your hand rises hesitantly, fingers caressing the wood before you knock on it, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

 _“Enter,_ ” Her voice sends shivers down your spine, like a hand trailing over your skin, even the memory of her is enough to set you on edge. You throw caution to wind, screw your courage in place and step forward into battle. The door falls closed behind you with a gentle click. She’s waiting in her usual spot for you, beautiful and untouchable as always.

“You are fifteen minutes late Miss Hollis I was starting to worry,” She says, an arched eyebrow the only outward sign of emotion. You don't think for one second that she was worried, but the sentiment is nice. You say nothing in response though, you just shuffle uncomfortably, hands clenched together behind your back. She breathes out and the air around you heats up, as if the air in her lungs was like molten fire and now it’s burning the atmosphere.

You move shaky hands to the buttons of your shirt, preparing to strip just as she always demands of you.

“Stop,” Her voice is a command and you instantly fall in line to obey. Hands stilling before dropping back to your sides. “Come sit down a moment. I think we need to talk.”

You walk with mechanical movements to the spot she indicates beside her, lowering yourself to hover awkwardly on the edge, poised and ready to run at a moments notice. She watches you with unreadable eyes and that unnerves you so.

“You’re late today, you didn’t reply to my email and I’m concerned about the way you left on Wednesday. I’ll admit, you weren’t the only one thrown by the early arrival of my guest, but that still doesn't excuse your behavior. I asked you a question and you lied to me, and then you ignored me. I thought we were being honest here Miss Hollis,” She says and the traitorous part of you that didn’t get the memo about not letting her in, aka your heart, skips a little at the thought that she cares enough to be pissed.

But you know it’s because you disobeyed her and she needs the control. It’s part of the therapy and you should have just emailed her back but you were being petulant and you weren’t ready to let her in. The rules have changed but the game is the same.

“I’m sorry Master, I have no good reason why I didn’t reply,” You tell her, eyes focusing on your hands that twist around each other in a worrying sign of anxiety. Carmilla sighs heavily beside you, her pale fingers closing around your own stopping your movements with her soft skin and her steadiness. You raise your head to look at her, feeling yourself be swallowed up by the dark pools that she calls eyes. She’s so fucking beautiful and it pierces you in the form a physical ache between your legs and in your heart. It’s an ache born of need and frustration that this is as good as you’ll ever get, and none of it is real.

“Laura, do you want to continue with our sessions? I’ll be honest I think you’ve made remarkable process over the past several weeks. You’re becoming more confident and I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t enjoying our time together. But,” She pauses here, fingers tightening around yours and suddenly silly things like breathing don’t seem to matter. “This whole situation is unusual for us both. You are not my sub, no matter how much it may feel like it. This type of therapy is not something I’d recommend for everyone, you’re only one of a few I’ve offered it too and the only reason there were others is because they were a submissive first or referred to me by a fellow dom.”

“Then why me?” Your question leaves your lips before you can censor it. You think she’ll be mad that you asked, but she’s always encouraged you to be open and to ask if you’re not sure. She’s made it so easy, and you slipped too far into the dream. Carmilla smiles a little sadly at you, her eyes distant and you want so badly to reach out and smooth the small frown that mars her otherwise beautiful forehead. But you don’t. You just clutch her fingers to you and let her heat provide you with some of your own. You were always hot in the desert, but ever since you’ve been home you’ve been cold, shivering and icy. She is fire and temperance.

“I recognized the look of desperation in your eyes, I once saw it in my own. Listen cutie, if this is getting too much, if the other part of my life bothers you then it’s okay for you to walk away. I wont make up your mind for you, it’s your life and you’re the one who has to live it,” She hesitates slightly looking unsure, an expression you’ve never seen on her face before, it almost worries you. “I’m going to wait next door. If you want to continue with your sessions, remove your clothes and follow me. If you don’t, I’ll refund this evening’s session and I’ve left a packet on the dresser with numbers to a number of conventional therapists who might be able to help with your recovery.”

She clenches your fingers tightly then stands in one graceful move, silently crossing the room to the adjoining bedroom. She holds her head high and her shoulders back and you wonder what made her this way? What put desperation in her eyes only for her sexual lifestyle to remove it again. She doesn't look back at you and you’re glad, it’s hard enough as it is.

You breath out slowly into the room, it’s a little shaky and you’re surprised by what’s happening. You know if you were really her submissive she wouldn't have told you any of what she just did, and if you were a normal client she would have shared even less. The fact that you can break down some of her walls makes it so hard to think about leaving. But think you do, very carefully.

You’re not naïve. You are a soldier and a survivor, it was always a gamble coming here but you’ve enjoyed the high stakes. Your blog, the VA therapy classes, the hours spent in the gym and the time spent with your friends haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of your PTSD. Carmilla helped in just one evening of painful passion.

It’s not the sexual activities that bother you, because they don’t. There is no shame in this kind of thing, just as there is no shame in women and men liking their own sex, or people not liking sex at all, or people wanting to remain virgins until they marry. There is no way for you to get it wrong, as long as you follow the simple rules. Consent from both parties and make sure everyone is singing from the same hymn sheet.

Yes it’s a little strange using pain to induce pleasure but you’ve enjoyed submitting yourself. The problem here lies with Carmilla herself. She is beautiful, intelligent, enigmatic, and she has been nothing but professional since day one. She has not hidden her other life from you, nor has she demanded more than you can willingly give. But there is something about her that unsettles you. Is that a price worth paying for being able to think about Betty again? For being able to sleep without nightmares and not flinch when someone gets too close? You missed the memories you have of your squad, you’d forced them deep inside of you because survivors guilt was too much. But Carmilla made it okay for you to let them back in.

A sensible person would walk away, because you’re not sure you can remain detached like she demands of you. But. If there is the possibility that you could at least try, you’re not walking away from this, from her. She’s made too much of an impact in your life, and although you aren’t close to being better, you’re more yourself with her. You want to keep her close until you can learn to breath without it, without her, and besides she’s hot and the sex is great, you’d be mad to give it up now.

So you’ll play the game. You’ll learn to detach your heart and not let your overactive brain run away with itself. You’ll just give in to the feelings that she evokes in your body and beneath your skin, and that will be enough. It has to be, because the alternative is unthinkable.

You stand swiftly and remove your clothes with military precision, folding them quickly and neatly, leaving them to rest on the seat behind you. You are not afraid, not confused, not frightened to embrace this. You will submit to her and find your inner peace. You are stone.

You cross the room, the plush carpet smooth against your feet, your toes finding purchase in luxurious threads. You push open the door with a steady hand and your nerves stand on end and at attention as you enter her domain. She waits for you. Only you. Resting against the headboard of the king size bed that dominates the room. Black silk sheets caress her bare thighs, her lingerie-clad body causes your heart rate to accelerate to unbelievable proportions and you know that you’ve made the right decision. Her pleased smile makes everything worth it.

“I’m glad you decided to stay. I have such great plans for this evening, but first I must deal with some unpleasant business,” She slides forward to the edge of the bed, lowering perfect legs to the floor. You tremble in awe at her, your whole body wet, the apex between your thighs practically dripping with need. “Come here, lay down flat across my knees. You lied to me, ignored me and left without my permission, you know that I have to punish you sweetie.”

You are almost clumsy in your rush to obey her demands. You chance a glance up at her eyes as you reach her side, her hands griping your arms and helping you to lower yourself across her lap. Her eyes are dark and full of promise. You bite your lip to contain the groan of satisfaction that conjures in your gut. Her skin is smooth and soft beneath your trembling stomach, you hold yourself rigid as one of her hands lowers to your ass, the other settles in the small of your back. One hand holds you in place the other caresses the cheeks of your ass with a ridiculously sensual touch.

“I’m going to punish you now,” She says and if you didn’t know better you would say she is almost breathless, but Carmilla doesn't lose her focus when she’s playing master. “You will count each strike and thank me for it. You are not to enjoy this. You are being punished, do you understand?”

“Yes Master,” You gasp as her fingers suddenly clench against your back, her nails digging into your sensitive skin.

“Good girl,” You hear her breathe and in the next breath her hand leaves your ass and returns with a loud smack and the instant blossoming of pain. Your whole body reacts at the sting, shame lacing your mind as the knowledge that she is spanking you like a disobedient child finally sets in.

“One. Thank you master,” You gasp fingers clenching the sheets beneath your hands tightly. She gives you no respite, the next smack landing directly on top of the last one, the skin inflaming on contact. She is not holding back tonight, she aims to make you hurt, but you’re not frightened, one word is all it takes for her to stop but you have no intention of doing that.

“Two. Thank you master.”

She continues her assault, each hit as painful as the last and just as smooth and controlled. Despite her warnings not to enjoy it, your body betrays you around the number five mark. You feel your arousal peak, hot moisture pooling between your legs and joining with the sweat from both your bodies. But how could you not feel this way? She plays your body like a symphony and it’s magical.

Six and seven land against the tops of your thighs and it’s excruciatingly painful, unfortunately compounded by the hand she reaches beneath you to grip one of your nipples. Her fingers pinch it painfully, twisting and pulling as your whole body convulses in agony. But it’s oh so good and weeks ago that would have scared the hell out of you but now you welcome the sensations that course through you.

Eight and nine she reaches around to land against your clitoris. It’s on fire already but the strikes against it draw gasping sobs from your lips. You thank her with tears streaming down your face. Number ten hits the very first spot on your sore ass again, and you can barely speak to thank her, but you do, you follow her orders even though it hurts so much.

Her comforting touch returns to your inflamed skin, smooth fingers soothing the ache of your ass cheeks and your clit and your tortured nipples. She helps you to sit up, her hand cupping your face, thumb running along the line of your jaw.

“You know I don’t wish to make you suffer, but you understand why I did, don't you cupcake?” She asks, her words gentle but her eyes still dark and incensed with building passion. She makes you speechless when she looks at you like that. Like you are the only thing in her world and she would like nothing better than to possess your very soul. She doesn't even have to ask, it’s already hers. 

“Yes Master I know. I’ve learnt my lesson,” You tell her, voice trembling slightly, your fingers resting against the backs of hers. You mean the words though, you won’t hide yourself from her again, because that’s not the point of it. You will let her rule during your sessions and take some of that control for yourself.

She watches you for a moment and you forget about the ache in your groin, the heat of bruised cheeks, the throb of tortured flesh. When she pulls you against her, mouths crashing together with a force more powerful than her punishment, your whole body thrums with fervor. She kisses you with free abandon and you let her dominate you completely. You lose track of all the places her lips and teeth touch. She pulls at your bottom lip, almost breaking skin but holding back just enough.

Her hands stroke along your arms, slide along your waist and the sides of your breasts, the insides of your thighs. She touches you with such passion but leaves you wanting and trembling in all the wrong places. Her mouth paints a trail across your jaw and down your neck, her teeth nipping at the spot above your pulse before she soothes the marks with her tongue. It’s animalistic and you swear you hear her growling with pleasure. She’s hot and wild and it’s never been like this, but she has recognized your complete surrender and she’s determined to have you.

Her mouth moves lower, she places more marks against the hollow of your throat before her beautiful red lips close round your left nipple, her fingers pinching the right with almost bruising force. She kisses your breast, lathers her tongue around nipple and areola before she bites the fleshy part of your mound and your aroused shriek that escapes your lips sounds wanton even to your own ears.

“Yes sweetheart don’t hold back,” She breathes over your inflamed skin her words shooting straight through your ears and down into your groin. Your embarrassingly wet, you didn’t think it was possible to be this aroused and she’s pushed you to think that before. But this time you are, it literally runs down your thighs and pools on the sheets beneath you.

She pushes you back roughly, your body slamming against the silk bedclothes, bruised ass complaining with a rush of pain. But you are oblivious to the ache now, the much more pressing throb of needing to climax, needing Carmilla to be the one to bring it to you a more than powerful tool of forgetting. 

You watch breathlessly as Carmilla’s hands remove her own bra, the red lacy number thrown carelessly to the side. Then she descends on you, and it’s her dark eyes that you watch before the pleasure she bestows on your body makes them close against the onslaught.

Her fingers tighten around your breasts and her lips kiss your abdomen before moving lower, tongue dipping into your navel before she bites the skin above your hipbone. You’ve never felt anything more erotically stimulating in all your life. A shockwave of pure pleasure ripples through your core and you panic for one infinitesimal moment that it’s all too much. But then Carmilla is moving her mouth to your shaved pubic mound and the guttural moan that leaves you is a mere prelude for what is too come. 

She draws her tongue the length of your saturated slit and your hands fist in her hair. You love oral sex, absolute love it, both giving and receiving, but Carmilla’s touch is like none you’ve felt before and you’re not sure if you can survive it. But she doesn't linger there for long, despite how much you want her too. She drops her head lower, biting at your inner thighs leaving her marks behind. You will be bruised in more than one way after tonight, but you don’t care.

She raises her head up to look at you, her mouth wet with _your_ arousal and you forget how to breathe at the sight. Her lips curl upwards into a salacious grin and her next words are spoken with deadly desire. “Don’t you dare come,” she growls and that is all the warning you get before she lowers her head, her tongue once more against your dripping sex and you cry her name at the feel of her going down on you, eating you alive.

Your legs tremble against her head, your fingers entwining with the hand she places on your stomach to keep you from arching of the bed. Your other hand fists in her hair and you don’t care that she’ll probably punish you for doing it but you pull her even closer to you, her nose brushing against your clit as her tongue plunges in and out of your pussy.

“F-f-f-uck,” You groan through clenched teeth, that four letter word stretched to an impossible length as her lips suck on your clit, her free hand dipping in and out of your dripping hole. You’re going to come, you can’t hold back, you were on edge before and now this is almost torture and the worst of it is, she knows, she knows just what she does to you. But just when you think you’re going to disobey her command and just give in to the urge to lose yourself she pulls away.

You watch her slide off the bed, your heart racing, your lungs straining for each breath as sweat pours off your body and you shake with the beginnings of an orgasm you’re desperately fighting from coming. She moves across the room, all but ripping her panties off before pulling open the top drawer of her dresser. You watch transfixed as she pulls out a black harness, a moderately endowed purple dildo hanging from it.

You swallow at the sight, and you have to bite your lip to stop the groan of approval at the sight. Carmilla places her legs in the harness, sliding it up swiftly before fixing it in place around her hips, the bottom of the toy resting directly on top of her clit. She moans softly and her breaths are no more than harsh pants and she watches you with those irresistible eyes. You haven’t had many girlfriends and you’ve never done casual, but a strap-on has always been a huge turn on for you, unfortunately it’s been hard finding someone who reciprocates that.

Carmilla moves back towards the bed, each step like that of a graceful predator. She is all feline power and aggression and you’ve never wanted her as badly. The toy between her legs swings with every step and the black straps of the harness stand out sharply against her pale skin. But she is beautiful and right now, in this moment, she is all yours.

She climbs back onto the bed, her hands reaching for you. One hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back sharply and exposing your throat to her gaze. She leans forward and nips again at the mark she left behind, the bite an unreal aphrodisiac. Her lips graze the bottom of your ear and your whole body trembles at her touch.

“I’m going to fuck you Miss Hollis. I’m going to make you scream, make you beg for more of what I can give you,” She whispers into your ear, her hot breath assaulting your heated skin. Her words are a dark promise and you know she’ll deliver.

She pushes you with her free hand, urging you to turn around, baring your back to her and pressing your face into the sheets. The mere thought of her taking you from behind brings you swiftly back to the edge again and you know this time you’ll not be able to hold back.

Her hand that isn’t gripping your hair positions the toy at your pussy, your abundant arousal making additional lubrication completely unnecessary. She breathes deep, pauses against you for a moment then pushes inside. She’s bigger than what you’re used to and only a small portion of the toy slips inside on the first go. But she is relentless. She keeps working it in further, her hips rocking against yours as more and more of the plastic slips between your labia.

It’s the touch of her pubic bone against your bruised ass cheeks that signals her fully inside of you. Your breaths come in the form of punctuated moans, her free hand presses against your shoulder blade anchoring her in place and you lie flat against the bed your hips lifted obscenely and cradled by hers.

She pulls her pelvis back and pumps forward, rotating slightly so the toy twists inside of you. You swear again, tasting blood as you bite your tongue. Her pace is fast and hard and filled with the burning passion that has been this session. It’s normally a sensual affair, but this is all fire and fury and she is burning you alive. Her hand leaves your shoulder and your fists clench the bed sheets tighter.

She slaps your ass, shockwaves coursing through your skin. Her hand slips down, fingers stroking over the scars on your leg and it’s that gentle touch mixing with her brutal pounding that takes you to the precipice of what you know is going to be an unbelievable orgasm.

“I’m going to come,” you gasp breathlessly, remembering almost too late that you need her permission. She rotates her hips again, undulating against you as she presses her pelvis against your ass.

“Wait, I’m close, you don’t get to come until I do,” she orders and you whimper in frustration and exquisite agony. She leans forward pressing her breasts against your back and draping her sweat soaked form against your skin. Her hand leaves your hair, her fingers reaching beneath you to rub at your clit. Tears fill your eyes and you gasp her name over and over, a plea for her to let you fall, to let you reach nirvana.

“Please Master. Fuck, please,” You scream, terrified you’ll disobey her and terrified that you’ll never come back the same once she grants you permission. Her breaths are loud and rough in your ears, her lips tugging at your skin again, her hips a blur of motion. Just when you think you can take no more and that all hope is lost she stills, a single moan of satisfaction leaving her.

“Come now for me, darling,” she sighs and you don’t need to be told twice. Her continued thrusting of hips and her fingers rubbing against your clit push you over the edge. Your eyes roll in your head and the world disappears in a whirl of colors. You grunt and rock your hips against the toy, helpless to the demands of your body as your climax shakes your very foundations. You’re spacing out, losing your hold and cohesion on the world you thought you knew and only the feel of Carmilla pressed against your back and her hands on your skin are enough to stop you from floating away completely.

But when Carmilla reaches up to pinch your nipple and clit at the same time, shallow thrusts of the strap-on urging you on, the second climax that grips you draws a shattered cry from your lips of Carmilla’s name and then you really do lose all sense of self. The world fades to black and you slump forward, the sheets crumbled beneath you.

*** 

The first thing you are aware of when you return to consciousness is the feel of Carmilla’s hands rubbing something cold and wet onto your bruised bottom. You’re still on your front, head cradled by a pillow that you don't remember being there before. You turn your head sideways, raising yourself up on shaking arms to look over your shoulder.

Carmilla smiles back at you, still naked, but the harness and toy no longer in sight. A bottle of lotion rests on the sheets beside you and her gentle caresses on your battered flesh are more than welcome. She always tends you this way after she’s punished you and left her mark.

“Welcome back, how do you feel Laura?” It’s the use of your name that settles the thumping in your heart. It’s pillow talk time, the Master is gone, now it’s just Carmilla. You need her now, after that fantastic orgasm.

“Good. A little embarrassed though,” You say with a rueful smile, one that is returned by her. She lets you roll over onto your back, eyes assessing the damage she has done to your body. A trail of love bites marring otherwise smooth flesh. She almost looks remorseful but you’re not, just like your scars they are your badges of honor and even though they will fade in time the memory of how you got them won’t and that’s what you need, good memories to outweigh the bad.

“Why are you embarrassed?” She asks, lying down beside you, head on her palm as she rests on her elbow, the other arm coming to a stop on your stomach, thumb rubbing against your skin. You shiver at the gentleness in her voice and in her eyes and in the way she touches you.

“I’ve never blacked out during sex before, it’s kinda mortifying,” You laugh, and it’s true but you don’t feel shame that it went that far because it was beyond amazing. You just wish you’d had more strength not to lose consciousness in the first place.

“When you blacked out, did you have any flashbacks? Any symptoms of your PTSD?” She asks and although it’s delivered in the same quiet voice you smile as the psychologist shows herself.

“No, that was the amazing thing. I’ve had blackouts so many times after a flash and I always wake up terrified and angry. But this time it was just pure pleasure. I’ve never felt that before, it was nice knowing that I didn't have to wake up afraid,” You tell her, shifting to press your side against her front, her nipples grazing against your skin. It feels right to allow her to comfort you this way.

“Then that in itself is progress. I’m glad you stayed cupcake, really glad. I have to selfishly admit that I’m not ready to give you up. But if you ever ignore my emails, or walk away from me again then I’m going to pull the plug on this. You can’t grow attached to me. You can’t,” Carmilla says and although there is a soothing pressure in her voice you can’t help but hear the desperation underneath. But you’re not sure if it’s you she’s trying to convince or herself, and that scares the frilly hell out of you.

“I’m so tired now,” You groan through an unstoppable yawn, your arms stretching above your head before falling to loop around Carmilla’s neck. She rubs your bicep with a smooth warm palm and leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“Then sleep. We’ve still got a little time left, I’ll wake you up in a bit,” She says pulling you into her embrace, letting your face rest in the crook of her neck. She smells like sex and sweat, with the under laying scent of coconut. She slips the sheets around your bodies and allows you to press closer. It’s nice being this close to her.

“Thank you Carm,” You whisper against her throat, eyes slipping shut. For the first time in a long time you dream of good things instead of war and the whole time the weight of her in your arms is more than enough to keep you grounded.

***

That Sunday you sit once again on the sofa in the coffee shop, fingers flying over keys as you try and finish your deadline, this time filing an insightful article into the history of feminine hygiene products. 

You don’t look up when a shadow appears on your peripheral vision, or when another cup of hot chocolate is placed gently beside your empty cup. The weight of the sofa cushions moving beside you does draw your attention away, but despite the racing of your heart you’re not surprised to see Carmilla Karnstein, book in one hand, coffee in the other take a seat beside you.

She says nothing simply smiles into her mug and allows silence to lull you back into work. Just like that first Sunday the minutes fly by and her presence is like a steadying rock beside you. You don’t want to think about what it means, because you told yourself that you were taking your heart out of the equation. But she’s making that really hard. You sip your hot chocolate after you’ve filed your story and watch her, wishing that knew what was going on in her head.

On the Friday evening after your session you went home to your quiet apartment and showered, washing away the faint scent of her, but her marks remained. Small bruises lining your throat and breast and covering your hipbone. Now she’s here, enjoying the silence that’s easy between you and you so want to just feel nothing for her, but your pulse races and none of this is good or easy. But that doesn't stop it from feeling right, and that is more dangerous than any warzone you’ve been too. But you’re not afraid, and that has to mean something. It has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> badaax.tumblr.com


	7. Call Your Name Two or Three Times in a Row

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all once again! I come to you baring gifts of another chapter. I’m trying to shorten the gap between uploads, working on those essential time keeping skills I an assure employers that I have. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments, kudos and love both here and on my tumblr. It’s so gratifying as an author to know that people are enjoying your work, so I am mentally tipping my cap to you all. 
> 
> I also want to gave a huge shout out to Grace aka [bigmammallama5](http://bigmammallama5.tumblr.com) who drew the most incredible [fanart](http://bigmammallama5.tumblr.com/post/131540856253/nsfw-click-for-more-sin-click-for-even-more-sin) for this story. This is the first fanart I have ever seen for a story I’ve written so to say that I’m beyond excited about this is probably an understatement. She's super talented and I'm grateful to have her permission to share the link to her work. 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

“Okay cupcake just breathe for me,” Carmilla’s voice is impossibly gentle, a soft whispered purr in your ear as she slowly starts to wind her ropes around your body. She’s bound you so many times now, each experience is a difficult lesson for you. It’s about your complete submission and despite the weeks you've been coming here it’s still difficult.

But it’s the results that make it all worth it. Not only have you had some of the most gratifying orgasms of your life, you’ve also found courage and control again. In it’s own way it’s helping you find normalcy again. It’s been nearly three weeks since Carmilla give you her ultimatum. Stay or leave, it was your choice and you haven’t regretted your decision to stick around.

For the past three weeks Carmilla has joined you on that sofa in the coffee shop. You sometimes talk, or sometimes you just sit in companionable silence. You’re not sure what to make of it all, but whenever you actually manage to pry something from Carmilla, you get the sense that maybe she’s a little lonely. It must be exhausting being the one in control all the time. But then again you could be reading too much into it. As for your own emotions, you've been focusing on your recovery. Carmilla still makes your heart beat too fast and not just with lust. But you can ignore it in favor of finding your inner equilibrium again.

You haven’t had a serious flash in weeks, it’s just been little things. Like the heat of the sun or a car door slamming too violently. You remember to breathe and you remember how powerful Carmilla makes you feel and that’s enough to keep you grounded. It’s been even more beneficial during your sessions. You’re letting go of the last of your fear and reservations and now your time spent with Carmilla is even more significant.

But, today’s session will see you bound intimately and completely at her mercy. You still don’t like feeling helpless; the memories of flashing on her bed weeks ago come surfacing back in. You wonder what she has in store for you today, what ways will she push you out of your comfort zone and into a whole new world of pleasure.

“Talk to me Miss Hollis, ask me questions,” Carmilla tells you pulling you from your thoughts to focus once more on the ropes she’s winding around your chest. She loops them in a figure 8 between your breasts. The bonds aren’t all that tight or painful, they just restrict your movement and make your naked breasts feel even more exposed than usual in this room. She tightens the ropes around you, pining your arms to your sides as well as leaving you open.

She’s been trying this new thing recently, encouraging you to ask questions about certain aspects of what she’s doing. It helps because sometimes you feel out of your depth but knowing some of the answers allows you to feel more at ease. She still has ultimate control though, finding her power and dominance in how detailed her answers are or not.

She’s been working on getting you to talk about your feelings more, preparing you for a life outside of her unique brand of therapy. But it’s really, really difficult. You were trained to keep it all in, to be strong, to weather any storm. Breaking those walls down now seems an almost monumental task at times but you’re starting of small and she’s not pushing you faster than you’d like to go. She just wants you to communicate what you need and want. If you knew the answer to that then maybe you wouldn’t need to be here.

“What is the purpose of this?” You ask gesturing with your chin to the cords encircling your breasts and arms. Her sultry grin is almost infectious, dark eyes meeting yours with an almost predatory glint in them. You shiver as her fingers trail along the flesh on your arms, nails scratching your biceps and rifling the fine hairs on your forearms. Even this innocent touch is enough to put you on edge.

“It’s about my control and your submission. The ropes remind you of the dominance I assert over you, and maybe I just enjoy having you laid out this way,” Her lips curl upwards and you want so badly to kiss her, to reach forward and worship her with your mouth. But you don’t have her permission to do that, so you have to wait and hope she allows you to give in soon. 

“I guess I can see why Master,” you answer a little dryly, her hand smacking your bottom a little playfully, a little painfully in retribution for your sarcasm.

She selects another length of the cream rope she favors. It’s soft enough to minimize chafing, but even though she’s careful not to bind you too tight, you know the bonds will still leave you red after it’s done. But you like to see her marks on your skin, it reminds you of why you come here, of why you’re fighting.

This time she loops the rope around your waist before passing it between your thighs, allowing the material to pull tight directly between your labia. You gasp at the sensation, the uneven surface of the rope playing havoc with your senses. She finishes the bind, with a knot, conveniently placed so that it rests just above your clitoris. She smirks at her work, pulling the ropes to check they’re secure.

“Walk around the room, tell me how it feels,” She directs you and you don’t hesitate to obey. The first step you take makes you groan, the second pulls a stuttered whimper from you. Each movement causes the knot to rub against your clit and your inflamed nerves feel every rub of rope against skin. “Looks like it’s working, yes Miss Hollis?”

“Yes Master,” You say through gritted teeth _oh fuck yes_. You finish your lap of the room, coming to a stop just in front of her. She reaches for you, placing her hands either side of your face and pulling you towards her. Her kiss is slow and steady, not necessarily aiming to incite passion or pleasure, but just a reminder that she controls what happens and that you don’t have to be afraid.

“You have such a beautiful mouth Miss Hollis,” She whispers against your lips, her tongue tracing the swollen flesh ever so gently. It feels like the calm before a very tumultuous storm. Her thumbs stroke along your jaw, and this moment feels so surreal to you. Here you stand naked and bound with a beautiful woman kissing you with such care. “I intend to put that mouth to good use. You’d like that wouldn’t you darling?”

“Yes Master. You know I’d do anything for you,” You say in the same soft voice that she’s using but her words have left you wanting more, anything, just something. One of her hands slips downwards, fingers curling around the rope that leads down to your sex. She pulls on it, tugs gently enough that the material grinds against your already saturated core and the knot rubs over your clit. She continues to kiss you languidly, at her own pace, for her own enjoyment and pleasure.

Her other hand plays with your nipples, switching between both of them, her touch alternating between light and gentle passes with her fingertips and a rough grip as she pinches them hard. The combination of her full frontal assault, her tongue in your mouth and the hand tugging on the rope between your legs brings you cantering to a climax before you’d even really begun.

You pull your mouth away from hers, panting, your breaths embarrassingly loud in the dark and handsomely decorated bedroom. Your hips rock in time with her pulling and your whole body is ready to succumb to what you hope will be the first of many satisfying orgasms.

“Master can I please come? I need to come,” You ask, your voice a strained and weak thing as her motions make you lose yourself. Her movements still, her hands falling away from you and the pooling cold sensation of disappointment seeps into your coiled abdomen.

“No you may not. I am going to keep bringing you to the edge, over and over and over again, but you are not to come,” She delivers her orders with unwavering eye contact and you’ve never seen anyone look so serious and dangerous before. “You will pleasure me, you will watch as I come, you will beg me to have mercy and maybe, just maybe I will grant it before we’re through. Do you understand Miss Hollis?”

You don’t hesitate, you think on some level you know that if your arms weren’t bound to your sides you’d be saluting right now.

“Yes Master, I understand,” You say with unwavering certainty. You want the gratification, you want that moment of pure carnal pleasure, but you’re not willing to compromise the game to get it. Carmilla has never left you wanting for long, that’s the power in being submissive. Yes you’re bottom, but you’re the one with the real power, because ultimately you’re the one getting exactly what you want.

“Good girl,” She says with a smile, smoothing her hand over your hair before leaning forward, her lips pressing against your forehead in a gesture that steals your breath at its affection. But then she is leading you towards the bed, her hand wrapped around one of your biceps and you let her push you onto your back, the soft mattress smooth beneath you.

Every step brings a new fresh wave of mounting desire, the need to climax renewing its sense of purpose. Carmilla straddles your hips in one swift movement, placing her now naked sex directly on top of the knot pressing against your clit. She hadn’t bothered with sexy lingerie today, she’d only worn her robe, but left it unbelted. The sight had been a catalyst to your already heated desire before you’d even set foot into the room.

Now the robe is nowhere is sight and Carmilla Karnstein is arching her gorgeous body above yours, head thrown back as the rope knot glides over her own clit and her moisture slides down and blends with yours. She leans forward, pressing her breasts against your bound ones and the sensation makes your vision waver. Her arms rest beside your head, holding her body up and allowing her to keep that unwavering eye contact.

The first roll of her hips is slow and deliberate but pulls stuttered gasps from both of you. That poor knot accepts both of your clits, the textured bump rubbing you both at the same time as Carmilla grinds against you. You’re instantly almost ready to come; the combination of her weight against your ribs and her nipples against yours and the heat coming from her groin is a combination that you could only dream off.

She picks up her pace, grinding your clits into the rope and setting both of you on fire. Your skin burns everywhere hers touches but you can’t get enough. You wish your arms were free and you pull uselessly at the bonds, you want to touch her, bring her to new heights and you wish you were free to do it. But you’re not. She is the one in control here.

She leans forward and kisses you, her tongue in your mouth and yours attempting to return the favor. She sucks on your bottom lip, you trace hers with your lips and her breaths mingle with yours. Her movements are frantic, her slick and sweat coated skin sliding against yours and you’ve never felt anything as erotic in your whole life. But as incredible as it all is and no matter how hard or how fast Carmilla grinds your clits and the rope together you know you’re never going to make it before she does.

“I’m close, I’m going to come,” You gasp, tears in your eyes and mercifully she stills her movements almost immediately. She pulls back, staring down at you with unreadable eyes and you wish you could read her mind to know what she’s thinking. You long to reach up and wipe sweaty strands of her hair away from her forehead but you can’t move. She has you bound.

“Well you can wait,” She tells you, giving you a moment to collect yourself, the weight of her pressing the rope further into your sex is almost too much, but you will yourself to calm down. A few moments later you step back from the edge ready to go again. Carmilla doesn't take her eyes of you. As soon as she sees you sigh, she begins grinding again, the pressure hurrying you back to the precipice. You lose track of time as she brings you close, then stops leaving you tittering on the edge before you come back unsatisfied. She alternates rubbing your clits and the rope together with just her fingers, pressing them in and out of you at whatever pace she sees fit. You know she switches to prolong her own orgasm but in your desire-clouded mind, this denial is quickly becoming agony.

“Please Master, it’s too much, I need to come,” You beg, your whole body shaking and dripping in sweat. She stills her hips, the feel of her hot sex against yours almost undoing you.

“Thank you for telling me, but I’m still not ready to let you climax,” She says her voice a little huskier and little more unsteady than you think she would like. She pulls herself away from you, her absence allowing cold air to blow over your wanton sex but every muscle in your body quivers for more. She slides her hips forward, all but crawling across your body until she is resting above you, her thighs cushioning your head and you’re staring once again at the most magical sight you’ve ever seen.

“Make me come cutie and I’ll think about returning the favor,” She whispers and you need no more instruction than that. She lowers her hips and your tongue instantly delves into warm, wet depths. She groans as you probe her, pushing in and out as much as you can. You wish you had your hands to help but your mouth will have to do for now. You drag your tongue upwards, sucking on her labia before latching onto her clit, it’s distended and practically pulsating beneath your touch and you pull it quickly between your lips.

Her hands reach behind her, fingers gripping your erect nipples, tugging on them, pulling them, grabbing handfuls of fleshy breast and squeezing. But you know that it’s not for you that she’s doing it. She isn’t trying to hurry along your orgasm, she does it for her own, because she needs something to hold on to. The rush of pride you feel at that realization makes you double your efforts.

Her hips rock against your face and although it’s painful, and it hurts your neck and your nose is practically pushing against her pubic mound, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. One of her hands continues squeezing your breasts, the other grips your hair hard and drags you even deeper between her thighs. She comes with a stuttering gasp and a cry of “oh fuck Laura,” and you know you’ve never heard anything as beautiful before.

You are desperately close, watching her orgasm has been especially difficult for you over the past weeks. You never knew it was a kink of yours to get so turned on by watching your lover come. But there’s just something so incredible about watching a strong, sensual woman like Carmilla surrendering to their instincts, and knowing that you were the cause of it.

Her thighs tremble against your head, and her harsh pants shake the bed. She eases her hips upwards to look down at you, her fingers soothing the tortured strands of hair against your scalp that she’d pulled when she climaxed. Your hips shift uneasily, pumping the air softly as you attempt to find the friction of the rope against your clit and use it.

“Do you want to come?” She asks, voice unwavering and solid despite the trembling in her legs.

“Yes Master, please let me,” You whisper, not caring how pathetic and desperate you sound, just needing to follow her to some semblance of completion. She moves so quickly you’re almost swept away by it. She twists her hips and body so that she is still straddling your face, but now she is facing your body, her fingers already smoothing over the taut expanse of your belly. Her nails and palms pressing against your pubic mound.

She quickly and deftly unties the knot of the rope around your waist, throwing the material to the side as she exposes your swollen labia and throbbing clit to the room. She leans forward, presenting her glistening sex to you once more and before you can even think about and prepare for what’s next her tongue is slipping between your folds. You cry against her pussy, the sound travelling through her as she replies with a grunt against yours.

She wiggles her hips against you and you get the unspoken message. You want to come, you’ll have to work for it. It’s not like it’s a very taxing and unpleasant job. You push your face forward enjoying the heady taste of her. It’s that inescapable taste of woman mingled with sweat and it’s a powerful aphrodisiac all by itself.

She tugs on your clit with her teeth, her breasts pressing into your stomach, your nipples grinding against hers as she slides against you. She is relentless, pulling you, pushing you, licking you into a frenzy. She’d denied you and left you wanting now she’s pushing you towards something incredible.

You can tell she’s close again, her core clamping around your tongue as you enter her. It hits her hard and fast and her cry against your clit is more than enough to follow her over the edge. You can’t stop, you can’t ask for permission, you can only submit yourself to Carmilla completely and the pleasure she bestows on your body. Your head falls back in a silent scream, eyes wide open as your whole existence floats. You fall into space, and time ceases to exist.

“Laura, come on cupcake come back to me,” Carmilla’s voice is the one that pulls you back from wherever it was you’d been floating. Her lips press against your neck, her touch gentle and so comforting. You feel shaky and more than a little unsure of yourself but she grounds you, keeps you safe from the emotions threatening to overtake you.

“Hey Carm,” you whisper not caring that she might punish you for it. But the slow curving of her lips into a warm, almost shy smile reassure you that she won’t. The play is done, over, it’s the aftermath now and you can both just concentrate on being Laura and Carmilla. No more, no less.

“You alright? How do you feel?” She asks, almost clinical as her eyes rove over your body. She’s removed the ropes, but you were right, faint red lines remain behind. But you don’t care, you cherish them as a gift from her.

“I’m good, just sleepy. That was seriously intense this time though,” You say stretching your now unbound arms above your head. Carmilla nods her head and settles in beside you, allowing you to turn over and tuck yourself against her. Her arm encircles your shoulders, holding you tightly against her. Your face presses against her warm and soft shoulder and your arm drapes across her stomach. You like the intimacy of holding her like this, because just for a moment you can pretend it’s real.

“Yes, sometimes that can happen when you allow yourself to give in completely. But the most important thing to know is that I’m right beside you. I won’t let any harm come to you,” She assures you, her lips grazing against your forehead as she speaks. You indulge yourself a little, letting your body pull her closer and tighter against you.

“It’s funny, before the military I was so sure about who I was, and who I was going to be. But war changed everything. I saw friends die, saw them torn apart only to live as a shell. I came back carrying scars on my body and my mind. I was different. I had changed,” You tell her, opening up with words for the first time in a long time. But she is solid beneath you and her quiet reassurance that she is by your side gives you courage.

“It’s to be expected that you would change. Hero’s can’t save the world and remain unaffected, it just doesn't work like that. But you survived and you’re fighting. Each day you move on is a victory,” She says, her thumb rubbing your skin with a soft intensity. You nod against her, her scent permeating your brain.

“I’m not the same as before. But being here, with you, makes me remember all the reasons why I want to get better. I know I don’t say it enough, but I am so incredibly grateful for you taking this chance on me. I know it’s a really unique situation, one that is difficult for both of us, but you’re helping so much,” You need to censor your words a bit better, because it all but dribbles out of you.

“You’re rambling creampuff,” Carmilla laughs, the sound like music to you. She raises her head enough to look at you, before guiding you towards her. The kiss she presses against your lips is tender and sincere. “You are very welcome Laura Hollis.” Her softly spoken words make you blush, her laugh at the way you hide your face against her shoulder only making it worse.

“What are your plans for this weekend?” These personal questions are a new thing. She’s always asked you things but they’ve been delivered in that therapist way of hers. Over the past couple of weeks during pillow talk she’s started asking you less general things, while still maintaining her air of professionalism. It’s been very strange but you are not complaining. You’re starting to maybe, sort of, think of her as a friend and you like that idea.

“Well I’m going to the gym tomorrow with my friends Kirsch and Danny. They’ve been dating for a while so I always feel a little third wheel like but it’s nice being able to spend time with them,” Your lips occasionally brush against her skin as you talk and you can almost kid yourself that you seen goose bumps appear as you do. But it’s a little chilly in the room, and your theory is only confirmed as Carmilla pulls the silk sheets closer around you both. “On Sunday I have to file my story and then I might take a walk around the annual Styria Sock Puppet Festival.”

“Ugh are they still hosting that thing? I remember going there as a child, wondering why people paid to see decorated sweaty socks,” Carmilla huffs into your hair, and there is something so endearing about seeing her this way. Losing the mantle of Master to just become the woman underneath. “Are you going to go with your friends?” She asks and the honest intrigue in her voice qualms your embarrassment.

“Um, no, they uh, they don’t really enjoy it much. It was just something my mom and I used to do together every year, I sort of kept up the tradition after she died. It’s sort of lonely but it reminds me of her. I haven’t been since I was discharged. Last year I was in no fit state and this year I think I just want to prove to myself that I still can, you know?” You say and the way her arm tightens around your shoulders confirms that yeah, she does know. 

“You’re one of a kind cupcake, one of a kind,” Her reply is quiet and the emotion behind it is unreadable. But you don’t dwell on it as you both fall silent. You just let the heat of her body and the faint tingling left behind by her command of you lure you into sleep. She holds you as you fall, her arms still around you when you wake up an hour or so later. She spoons you against her, the press of her breasts against your back as she breathes more intimate than her mastery of your body.

***

On Sunday you sit at the same sofa in the coffee shop, proof reading your story. Carmilla hasn’t joined you today, and you’re trying not to be disappointed about it, because that’s stupid. You’d gotten used to her steady presence though as you’d worked. But you push on regardless of the empty space beside you on the couch.

You finish your final proof read, pleased with the article and the caliber of it. You’ve written a piece on the local governments alleged embezzlement of public recreation funds. It’s the first investigative piece you’ve written since before your second tour of Afghanistan and you feel accomplished that you could move on enough to do it. You’re managing your symptoms much better thanks to Carmilla and you’re starting to enjoy life all the more for it.

You’ve just hit send on the email to your editor when the door of the shop opens. You don’t know why you look up, because you’d been ignoring it all this time, but your heart stops when you do. Carmilla Karnstein steps in, full of purpose, eyes scanning the busy shop before landing on you. She’s wearing purple pants today, tucked into her ever-present combat boots. A white t-shirt that clings to every gorgeous curve adorns her upper body, and an open black waist coat adds just a little bit of class.

“Hey cutie, you trying to catch flies or something?” She says as soon as she’s within earshot, your gaping mouth snapping shut automatically as heat floods to your cheeks. You shouldn’t be surprised to see her, it’s Sunday after all. But you can’t escape the fact that she sought you out, she didn’t just take her place quietly beside you as she is known to do. Not that you’ve minded especially when you’ve been frantically typing. But there’s something in the way she’s looking at you now that makes this seem so much different. 

“Hey Carm, how are you?” You ask remembering your manners probably just a moment too late. But at least you’re trying. She hooks her fingers in her belt loops and watches you with dark eyes.

“I’m alright. You get your story filed?” She asks and you like that she cares. You like that she wants to know about your articles, and that she has intelligent things to say about them, even when they’re not all that interesting.

“Yup, all done. Just getting ready to head out though, the festival closes at 6,” You say, shoving your laptop back into your bag. She nods her head, her hands slipping into her pockets. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she was almost nervous, but that’s stupid, Carmilla Karnstein doesn't get nervous.

“Oh yes, sweaty socks. If you don’t mind waiting a moment for me to grab a coffee, I’d love to join you, beats having to go by yourself,” She says adding the last part as if she has to explain. But she doesn’t. Her offer to accompany you makes something hot pool behind your eyes and lump in your throat. You normally go alone, and you hate it, but her offer is more than welcome. You’d want her to accompany you anywhere, because despite her aversion to the ‘sweaty socks’, there is only genuine warmth in her voice.

“I’d really like that, thank you,” You say, voice a little throatier than you would like. But Carmilla spares your embarrassment by quickly moving to join the end of the steady queue. A few minutes later you are both outside, cardboard cups in hand. She got you a hot chocolate, and even though it’s your third you don’t care, sugar overload be damned.

It’s a lovely day, and the park is the perfect setting for the festival. You both pay the entry fee, because you both couldn’t decide on who would pay. Carmilla had insisted she paid because she had just invited herself along, but you had insisted you pay because she was keeping you company. In the end you agreed to pay each other’s fee, it was strangely domesticated and arguing with her is almost enjoyable. At least it allows you to see a different side of her.

You are painfully aware of her presence as you walk among the rows of stalls show casing the puppets that despite Carmilla’s concerns do not smell like sweaty socks. You put your hands in your pockets to stop from reaching out to touch her, or take her hand. She’s silent as usual, and it’s like being in the coffee shop except there’s more people and it’s sunny.

At one point a group of rowdy children rush towards you, screaming and laughing. It’s the screaming that gets to you though, eyes closing for a moment as you remember the sounds that surrounded you on the battlefield, the cries of pain, the explosions, the gunfire.

Carmilla’s hand is warm against the small of your back and it’s enough to force your eyes open.

“Breathe,” She says simply eyebrows rising in something akin to concern. You follow her advise, working through the techniques she taught you all those weeks ago and the world rights itself again. Her smile sends a rush of heat and pride through your veins and despite not knowing completely the depths of how you feel about her, you’re glad that in this moment she is here.

You part ways back at the coffee shop, and you can only thank you her so much before it starts sounding superfluous.

“Don't even go there cupcake. I wanted to be here today, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have fun,” She says with an easy smile cutting you off before you can ramble again.

“I’ll see you on Wednesday,” she whispers these words against your cheek, her lips pressing against the skin ever so softly and you want to reach for her and to hold her close. But you don’t. She leaves in a swirl of coconut and grace and for the first time in a long time you don’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
>  
> 
> [badaax.tumblr.com](http://badaax.tumblr.com)


	8. Soon I Know I'll Wake From This Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all long time no update! I want to firstly apologise for my absence this past week and a bit, it's been one of those never-ending weeks, the life of a tragic PhD student I guess. I haven't had a chance to reply to comments like I normally would, but I still thank you all for the love on this story, it means a lot. 
> 
> In an attempt to convince you all to forgive me, I present to you an extra long chapter! 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

“Laura hurry up or we’re going to be late!” Perry is in her element right now, making it her personal mission in life to ensure you’re on time for every social engagement you have to attend. You roll your eyes, fingers brushing through your hair one more time, loving the feel of silken locks as they pool around your face.

“L, get out here!” LaFontaine’s voice sounds part amused, part agitated and you can’t help but feel sorry for them. When Perry is on a mission they are usually the willing (or maybe unwilling if cleaning is involved) foot soldier. You decide that it’s only fair to take mercy on them. You grab your clutch, smooth out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress and march to your bedroom door.

LaF’s grin is the first thing you see when you step into the living area of your one bed flat. You hear Perry grumble _about time_ under her breath, her hands blurring as she straightens the pillows on your couch with well-practiced efficiency. She looks really beautiful tonight, her curvaceous form accented by her forest green dress, modest and classy, it exudes the refinement you’ve come to expect from Perry.

LaF straightens their bow-tie, the same forest green colour as Perry’s dress and grabs their discarded suit jacket. They take Perry’s arm, more to stop her from fussing around your living room than anything else but you can’t help noticing just how good they look together. Like two parts of a whole, your two best friends in all the world and you’ve never been as grateful to have a second chance to let them know it.

“Laura sweetie you look wonderful,” Perry says, eyes shinning with more than just life. She smiles, it’s bright and filled with joy and you’re glad that you made the effort, you’re glad that you feel better enough to try.

“Yeah Frosh, you scrub up well,” LaF reinforces Perry’s sentiment and for the first time in a long time you feel good, you feel almost whole. Your dress is blue, stopping just above your knees it covers the scars on your leg and helps heal the ones on your heart. Your return smile is almost a little shy, but it doesn't stop both LaF and Perry from drawing you into a group embrace. You laugh when Perry kisses your cheek and LaF pats your head, it reminds you of days gone by when life was so much simpler. Maybe it can be once again?

“Okay, enough, my makeup is going to run,” Perry says pulling back, fingers wiping at her eyes. “My father is really glad you could make it this year, so are we,” She adds fingers entwining with LaFontaine’s. You nod your head because you don’t trust yourself to speak. Every year Perry’s family holds a massive gathering to celebrate her father’s birthday. Last year you didn’t go, you couldn’t stand crowds, you couldn't be near people, you were at an all time low. This year however you almost feel like your old self again.

You wouldn’t miss this party for anything because it makes your friends happy and it gives you some of your control back. You run your life, not the demons inside of your head and you’ve got a certain Master to thank for that. Despite the confusion she inspires in you, your sessions with her of late have been remarkable. The release is good, the company is great and best of all you no longer fear the person you’ve become. You’ve accepted the changes war wrought in you. But as Carmilla says, it’s easy to think like that when you haven’t had a flash in a while, it’s how you react when you do that will be the real turning point.

It’s been a week and a half since the sock puppet festival and like clockwork she met you Sunday past for coffee. After you’d submitted your story, you accompanied her for a walk along Main Street. It was nice, a little confusing still yes, but it felt normal, and you like spending time with her. She doesn't place demands on you, she doesn't try to walk you into situations you’re not ready emotionally and physically to deal with. She just stands by your side and allows you to assess the scene before moving forward.

You once again can’t help but feel that maybe she’s a little lonely, when you worked up the courage to ask her why she wanted to keep having coffee with you. She shrugged with an aloof smile adorning those beautiful lips and said ‘it’s not exactly taxing spending time with you cutie’ you’re not sure what to make of that answer, but you’re not the psychologist here.

You had to cancel your Friday session with her for Perry’s family’s gathering, and despite the disappointment you feel at not seeing her, you don’t feel the same sense of dread you felt all those weeks ago when she first warned you about becoming too dependent. You like that though, you like that you don’t feel reliant on her, her help has given you back your independence and that’s what you’ve needed most of all. You’ve had to learn how to brave again.

Perry and LaF talk in low voices for the entire taxi ride to Perry’s childhood home. You just sit quietly staring out the window watching the world rotate by you. Once upon a time you would have responded in kind to the conversation about ‘who was more badass Buffy or Xena’ but you learnt to be quiet in the military and it’s a hard habit to break. You’re also a little nervous about being in a room with so many other people, you’ve tried to avoid crowds, someone brushing against you is sometimes all it takes to set you off. But you’re practicing your breathing techniques and telling yourself that you are safe, you’re not in danger.

By the time the taxi pulls up in front of the luxurious red brick house that is Perry’s family’s home, you are feeling almost zen about the whole thing. You’d been trying the whole occlumency adage of clearing your mind and thankfully you’re a lot better than Harry at it. You follow Perry up the paved driveway as LaF rather graciously pays the taxi fare. Perry’s family is old money, but not conceited like some, their house is beautiful but still rather modest. It’s been in her family for generations and you’ve always liked coming here.

The party is in full swing by the time Perry ushers both you and LaF through the door, a server instantly arriving by your sides to take coats and get drinks. You order a glass of what you imagine is probably absurdly expensive sauvignon blanc and allow the suitable hints of citrus and honeysuckle to ease the remaining tension in your shoulders.

You sip at your wine as you follow Perry and LaF deeper into the room, smiling at a few people you’ve come to recognize over the years. A number of them take a second look at you, pity and curiosity filling their eyes. News of any nature travels fast and you’re not surprised that most of them have heard about your misfortune. A polite way of saying the mess that is now your life.

The year before last you had come to this party wearing your military dress uniform, you’d been on leave at the time and staying with Perry and LaF. Your nice clothes had been at your dad’s home, and Perry’s figure was completely different from yours to borrow anything from her. So you’d just worn your formal dress, you’d walked proudly that night, three months later you’d wondered if you’d ever walk again.

But despite the looks in other peoples eyes now you don’t care, you’ve gotten used to it, besides you’re not here for them, you’re here for Perry. You spend a few minutes letting Perry’s mother and father fawn over you. Both of them pleased to see you and proud of your accomplishments. You feel a little overwhelmed by their zeal, excusing yourself quickly as soon as it’s deemed polite to do so.

You head towards the makeshift bar area, catering staff hurrying to and fro, ferrying drinks and canapés to the guests. A string quartet set up in the corner plays a soft arrangement, barely audible over the noise of party dwellers, you like the sound though, it’s a little chaotic but it’s just life.

You find Danny and Kirsch at the bar, both of them arguing in hushed tones about something that will probably make no sense to you. You greet them with a smile, allowing both of them to take turns hugging you.

“Hey little nerd, you’re looking extra hot tonight,” Kirsch smirks, holding you at arms length, your biceps clutched in his massive hands. He shakes you a little as if reiterating his point and you suddenly feel like a rag doll.

“Paws of popped collar,” Danny growls gripping his shirt collar tightly and dragging him out of your personal space. “Sorry about him, just when I think I’ve got him civilized he pulls a stunt like this. But he is right Hollis, you’re looking really good tonight,” she says eyes trailing the length of you before snapping upwards. Her blush clashes with her red hair and Kirsch’s smile is just a little too smug after that.

You ask them how they’ve both been, you saw Danny at the gym last week but you haven’t seen Kirsch in ages. As they talk, Kirsch wraps his arm loosely around Danny’s waist and her faint smile and the way she leans ever so subtly into him makes your heart happier than you’ve felt in a long time. You’re glad that your friends have people and you’re only a little lonely and a little jealous that you don’t have anyone to share things with as well. But you’re only now feeling happier about who you’ve become that dating was never really an option before, maybe it’s time to reconsider that?

You’re silently musing this thought and sipping on your drink when you see something that makes your heart stop beating all together. It’s just a flash of dark hair and pale skin that gets you first of all, before a break in the crowd and a familiar back comes into view. You know you’re holding your breath, telling yourself that what you’re seeing isn’t real, but it is, it is real. Carmilla Karnstein’s smile when she sees you makes it that way.

You don’t know why she’s here, but here she is, wearing an absolutely stunning scarlet dress that clings to everything, highlighting her firm abdomen, her lean hips and her narrow waist. Your next drink of wine is a gulp that does little to quench the sudden dryness in your mouth. She swiftly excuses herself from the conversation she was having with a balding middle-aged man and stalks her way towards you.

Every part of you tenses and remains on edge as her lips pull into a smirk and the expression on her face leaves you in no doubt that she knows the effect she’s having on you.

“Well, well, I guess this party just got a little more exciting after all. You’re looking perfectly delectable cupcake,” She drawls in that low purr of hers, her dark eyes sincere behind her flirtatious words. She leans in towards you brushing her lips against your cheek, the smell of her perfume permeating your senses. Then she pulls back, placing a respectable social distant between you and her kiss became nothing more than a greeting.

“Who’s this?” Danny demands to your left, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Kirsch tightens his grip on her waist, eyes a little glossy and dazed every time he glances in Carmilla’s direction. You don’t blame him, she’s a whole presence on her own, she could wear nothing but a brown sack and still command a room.

“I’m Carmilla Karnstein, who might you be Xena?” Carmilla replies, eyes watching Danny carefully her expression torn between amused and careful. Danny bristles slightly at the nickname but both you and Kirsch choke back a laugh, a mouthful of expensive wine attempting to enter your lungs as you restrain yourself. Carmilla’s hand pats your back as you splutter, a slight smile dancing around her lips.

“Carmilla, I’m so glad you could make it!” Perry’s voice mercifully interrupts the charge in the air that was so skillfully created by the feel of Carmilla’s warm fingers dancing across the thin material of your dress. It’s always strange to see her outside of Room 307 but in her civvies you could process that because she looked so normal and it was just you and her. But among these people, dressed in that dress and looking very much like the cat who got the cream, you’re having trouble not seeing your Master.

“Hey look, it’s the Bobsey twins,” Carmilla deadpans as both Perry and LaFontaine appear at your sides. Perry ignores her comment, stepping forward to hug her, you almost laugh again at the look of disgust on Carmilla’s face. LaF settles for a wave, before standing close to you, their arm brushing yours in a show of solidarity. LaF has always been good at reading you.

“Let me introduce you, Carmilla these are my good friends Wilson Kirsch and Danny Lawrence, and off course you know both LaFontaine and Laura already,” Perry says gesturing a little pointlessly in your direction. Carmilla’s gaze is focused and as unreadable as ever as she stares at you. Perry continues to talk, but Carmilla doesn't look away.

“Carmilla is an old friend of the family, she’s missed our last few get togethers because of business but last year was her first appearance in a long time, I’m glad you repeated the performance this year,” Perry laughs, it’s high and melodic and so very her.

“Well, I’m not going to refuse free wine. Your dad has always been nice to me,” Carmilla adds with a casual shrug but you sense the earnest affection there. You think you know her enough by now to know that she never opens her heart to anyone, but the genuine warmth in her voice surprises you and pleases you in equal measure. Maybe she isn’t as alone as you fear.

LaF, Perry and her continue to make small talk, Kirsch and Danny interjecting frequently, but you just stand there, numb and not nearly drunk enough to process her presence. It seems way too normal and way to easy to see her with your friends, enjoying the time you spend together. You can almost kid yourself that this was always the way it was meant to be. But that is a dream for children. You stopped being a child a long time ago.

“Penny for you thoughts Miss Hollis?” It’s not until she speaks your name do you realize that your friends have disappeared to other areas of the party and only you and Carmilla remain alone by the bar. One of the hired bartenders presents Carmilla with a tumbler of honey coloured liquid. Ice cubes clink together as she raises it to her lips, you follow the path of her swallow, her throat shifting as she does, you’re unable to look away.  

“I want to apologise if I made you uncomfortable by being here. Like Betty Crocker said, I’m an old friend of the family and last year was my first appearance in a while,” Carmilla tells you, her eyes trained on the glass in her hand, instead of you. Her voice wavers slightly, and her fingers twitch restlessly on the sweating glass. She’s nervous, it occurs to you, nervous about how she should approach you.

“I wouldn’t say I was uncomfortable, surprised perhaps, but uncomfortable no,” You say with a slight twist to your lips, her anxiety is helping to curb yours and it’s nice to know that she isn’t always the one in charge of everything. You used to have just as much vigour; it’s all about teaching yourself to find it again. You’re feeling bold, probably because of that now empty glass of wine, but your fingers run the length of her arm before you can tell them to stop. She shivers beneath your touch, skin prickling in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with you.

“Well I’m glad then, because I wasn’t kidding around when I said you looked delectable. There’s a confidence about you, one that I’ve seen coming back slowly, and despite how inappropriate this is going to sound, you look really beautiful tonight, but not as beautiful as you look with no clothes on at all, cutie,” Her grin is downright filthy as are her eyes which trail the length of you. But it feels so good to be desired, to be wanted, to be ogled by someone as lovely as Carmilla that you can’t help but smile.

“Well, that feeling then is very much mutual,” You say tipping your empty glass in her direction. Your eyes meet and if it wasn’t so cliché you’d swear sparks dance between you. It’s with the greatest sense of disappointment then as Kirsch suddenly appears at your side with a demand from your friends to join them for Perry’s father’s annual birthday remarks. An occasion that Perry treats as a bigger deal than the state of the union address.

Carmilla says nothing as you are all but physically manhandled away, she just raises her eyebrow and takes a delicate sip of her whiskey, watching you even as the crowd swallows you both up. You have no idea what just happened between you, you could kid yourself, pretend that it felt nice to just be wanted, but it was more than that. But it’s the more that you’re not ready to label yet.

Instead you let Kirsch pull you to a stop beside your friends, LaF elbowing you in the ribs, a grin pasted on their face and you know they’re going to ask about Carmilla as soon as they get the chance. But you honestly don’t have anything to tell them and that’s the part that confuses you.

Perry needlessly shushes you all as the crowd around you falls silent and her father, a tall man with salt and pepper hair and an impressive moustache moves to stand on the staircase, elevated enough that he can see most of the room.

He begins his speech with a well-practiced earnestness that reminds you of his daughter, you laugh along with everyone else in all the right places. You’re not entirely sure how funny it all is, but sometimes acting normal is enough. He’s just about to raise his glass for a toast to his wife and Perry for organising the party when a large bang sounds somewhere below your feet. A second later the lights go out and the room plunges into darkness.

A few people scream in surprise, others laugh nervously and the faint smell of smoke from an extinguished candle fills your nose. People whisper all around you until it sounds like buzzing in your ears and Perry’s father can be heard over the din telling everyone that the fuse box blew and the lights will come back on in a second. Someone bumps against your arm, a glass breaks somewhere to your left and the darkness is so thick it presses against you like a weight.

It doesn't surprise you, the realisation that you’re flashing. Flashing in a way that you haven’t in weeks, the unfamiliar situation so out of your control, the scent of lingering surprise and fear and the darkness, the darkness pushing you past the point of no return. Sound around you fades out until all you can hear is your frantically pounding heart and your harsh panting breaths. Someone, one of your friends you think, backs into you accidently, the weight of them against your chest throwing you right back to a warzone, Betty’s dead eyes sightless but still seeing you.

Your legs give way and the ground is cold and hard against your knees. The blackness stays even when the lights come back on, and it’s already too late for you to come back.

***

_You wake in the chopper, eyes wide and frantic, pain scorching through your leg and your shoulder. The mask on your face feels like a noose and your uninjured arms rises so your hand can slap it away._

_“Steady soldier, you’re on an med-evac, we’re 5 mins out to forward HQ, keep that mask on,” A voice to your left surprises you, a helmeted face looming in to view, the caduceus of the US army medical corps emblazoned on their flight suit._

_“My squad?” You groan through the oxygen mask, having to repeat the question several times until the medic can hear you properly over the roar of chopper blades. Their face tells you more than the words they don’t say. It’s grief and agony and not pain that pulls you under this time._

_The next time you wake, you’re in Germany, a million miles away from the battlefield and confused as hell how you got there. A military nurse soothes your worry with some answers, delivered in that brief way that you’re more than used to. She tells you about your injuries, how you’ll need physical therapy, PT, to get your leg back to some semblance of working order, how you had concussion, a GSW to your right shoulder but it was mostly just a flesh wound, you’ll have no lasting effects there except for a scar. You underwent emergency surgery to stabilise a perforated artery in your thigh in the Afghan field hospital before you were air lifted to the medical field base in Germany._

_You remember the ambush, you remember your squad being blown apart and you remember killing that boy. A liaison officer fills in the rest of the details during your debrief, your squad held that patch of dirt for just over 12 minutes before the cavalry arrived. You along with the three other survivors of your thirty-man convoy all suffered near fatal wounds. You should be dead, you’re lucky to be alive, you should be proud that you served your country. His words are just noise because Betty wasn’t lucky, your LT with his two sons waiting back home wasn’t lucky. You don’t feel very lucky at all._

_It takes four more surgeries to remove the shrapnel from your leg, by that time it is so swollen you wish they’d just cut it off, but they don’t they just keep filling you with meds. When an infection sets in after the third surgery they have to restrain you to your bed when you sleep, otherwise you wake up trying to claw your own leg off with bleeding fingertips._

_Four weeks after the ambush you take your first step, it’s one filled with pure agony and for the first time since that RPG hit your ATV you break down and allow yourself to cry. One of the nurses finds you crumpled on the floor, blood leaking from pulled stiches. She says nothing, simply helps you back into your hospital bed, fixes your stiches and leaves you to your grief. That night she slips you an extra cookie with your dinner and it’s that simple act of kindness that you remember the most._

_The first phone call to your father, five weeks after the attack and a week after you started PT is excruciating. He cries, overcome with relief and anger that his baby girl almost died and he was helpless to do anything about it. He begs you to get better so that you can come home and he can look after you. He tells you that you never should have went, that his fears were justified. You know it’s only grief that makes him this way, but it’s not really the support you need right now._

_The flashbacks start in the hospital, about six weeks after the incident, the PTSD diagnosis comes later though. You can walk with the aid of a cane, it’s slow and each step is painful but there is something welcoming about the ache. Your physical therapist is excited about your prospects, everyone once again telling you how lucky you are, as if you don’t know that already. You say nothing because everyone dreads losing their lives to someone else’s war, but this is what you signed up for, you knew the risks. But you can’t feel lucky about living when you wish like hell that you were dead._

_You’re shipped home 8 weeks after your convoy was blown up. Your medical discharge is simply a formality at this point, your severance pay a slap in the face and your wounded serviceman medal still snug in its box. The day you take off your military dress uniform for the last time is the worst day of all. You drink yourself into unconsciousness that night, your father finding you stone cold out of it on the back porch of your childhood home. He says nothing the next day but the disappointment in his eyes leaves you heart sore and broken._

_You return to your small apartment, a hundred miles from your father’s house 12 weeks after the attack. Your discharge papers are through, you’ve made a regular PT appointment with a field hospital in your home city and you’re planning on seeing a therapist. You hate the idea that you need a shrink to help, but you can’t sleep, you can’t leave your house, you don’t even want to get well. You just go through the motions and it’s killing you._

_Perry, LaF and the gang are more than ecstatic to get you back, relived that you’re alive, the party they throw in your honour is a nice gesture, it’s just a pity its an unmitigated disaster. You flash not less than five minutes through the door, screaming your head off as Betty’s dead eyes fill your mind. You leave, run away, without an explanation, Danny finds you the next day on her doorstep still drunk, knuckles bleeding and clothes covered in dirt._

_You know you’re self-destructing. When you don’t drink to escape you don’t sleep, and you hate relying on alcohol as a crutch but what else have you got. You’ve got work writing freelance articles for the local VA newspaper, but it feels like a mockery of your once former life. You feel like you’re letting down all the soldiers you left behind, you’re damn lucky to be alive and you know it, but every waking breath is just a reminder of what you’ve lost._

_You’re disgusted with yourself, with how you look, how you act, how you can’t even carry a conversation with your friends. You shut yourself away from everyone, holed up in your apartment, growing thinner and weaker and more miserable. You don’t go to PT anymore, you don’t go to your therapist. You barely eat, you don’t wash, you just lie there hoping you’ll wake up from this dream. But you never do._

_LaF is the one who finally snaps you back to some sort of reality. The bucket of cold water they toss over you and your bed, is literally as awful as it sounds. But for the first time in so long you feel something beneath the numbness even if it is irritation. They remind you about the things that they’ve been through, the loss of their parents after they announced they were non-binary, the bullying, the scorn, the disapproval. They remind you about the time you found them bruised and bleeding after a night out, someone taking offense to who they are and letting them know it with their fists._

_You’d been home on leave and you’d moped up their wounds and held them as they cried. You’d been there for them, and now LaF was determined to be there for you. That day you go back to your therapist, it’s a step in the right direction but it’s a step that doesn't help._

_For the next year you struggle, moving from therapist to therapist, treatment to treatment but nothing works. You can’t talk about Afghanistan. You just can’t. No matter what. It’s just this block there that prevents you from opening up and until you learn how to do that, until you learn to embrace your fears you’ll never get better. Until you get back your control you’ll stay helpless and weak. Vulnerable._

_LaF and Perry give you the calling card for a mutual friend of theirs on the eve of Betty’s birthday. It’s the words Room 307 and Carmilla Karnstein that get you through that night. Betty didn’t deserve to die, and neither did you, maybe that makes you lucky that you didn’t, but until you can appreciate life again, nothing else really matters. Until you get back your control you’ll stay helpless and weak. Vulnerable._

***

It’s the moments after a flash that make everything so surreal, like a quiet clarity that you’ve done something wrong and everyone is just waiting to shout at you for it. The first thing you’re aware of is the hands on your shoulder, fingers digging in deep. You flinch at the touch, it’s too hard and not at all welcome. Your head whips up, Danny’s eyes meeting yours and it’s her hands that are dragging you upwards once more.

Perry and LaF hover anxiously around you, making excuses to the curious crowd and Kirsch waits in case he needs to catch you.  Your knees ache from where they hit the ground, you taste blood in your mouth, a quiet exploration with your tongue probes the wound on the inside of your cheek.

Your body drips in cold sweat and you’re unsteady where you stand. Danny drags you out of the room, you stumble along in her wake and the rest of your friends follow behind like chattering birds. The crowd watches you with feigned concern, they’re far to inquisitive for that, you’re now the fuel for their gossip and the nausea swirling in your stomach makes you shiver.

You don’t realise you’re outside until a cool breeze touches your face. You barely make it away from Danny before you’re retching into Perry’s mom’s prized rose bushes. The shrubs line the back porch but they don’t protest as they’re spattered with bile and white wine. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, hobbling over to the top step that leads down into the garden proper.

Your thigh aches with phantom pain and your hand unconsciously rubs at the skin through your damp dress. Perry sits beside you, her hand reaching for your shoulder, but you shrink away from her. You don’t want her pity or her sympathy. You just want to go home. You’re embarrassed as hell, you feel weaker than Harry after he saw Arthur Weasley attacked in the Ministry of Magic and all you can think about is how fucked up your life is.

You’d been so good, only little things had set you off, this was the first major flash you’d had in weeks and it was in the most embarrassing of settings. You’d tried so hard, and everything you’d worked towards was undone in a matter of seconds. Now your friends crowd you and you can’t run away fast enough.

“What the hell was that Laura? I thought you were getting better,” Danny demands, arms folded across her chest. She stands in front of you, glaring with hard eyes that still shine with fear and you have no good answer for her.

“Hey, don’t do that, this isn’t her fault,” LaF jumps straight in to defend you, their hands gripping Perry’s shoulders tightly and although you’re grateful for their support you just wish you could fight your own battles.

“I’m sorry, I’m just worried. That was the worst melt down we’ve seen in a while,” Danny is just frightened but her trivial words about your flash hurt you more than you would like. It’s not like you asked for this to happen.

“Talk to us Laura, what’s going on? What caused it?” Perry asks you and is so earnest you really do try to tell her. But you can’t. You don’t talk about it with them, you don’t trust anyone enough for that anymore.

Kirsch asks a similar question to Perry, Danny and LaF arguing about what should be done now and you just don’t care. Your head falls into your hand and all that fear and resentment and anger that’s been building in you spills over.

“Enough!” You practically shout, pushing to your feet, you sway slightly and that just makes you more upset. “You know I can’t talk about this. That’s been part of the problem all this time. I can’t tell you guys.”

“But why sweetie? We’re all here for you, you know that,” Perry says, watching you with worry on her face and you wonder if she thinks you’ve finally lost it. You shake your head, hands shaking, sweat dripping down your back and you wish so badly you were anywhere else right now.

“Easy there everyone, I don’t think this intervention is what Laura needs right now, isn’t that right cupcake?” You never thought a single voice could make you feel so relieved, but _hers_ really, really does. You turn your head, cursing yourself for forgetting that she was here at this party and wishing that you’d just run straight into her arms from the moment you woke from that flash.

“Your name is Laura Hollis, you were a Logistic Supply Specialist in the military and you served two tours in Afghanistan. You now write freelance news articles, and run that adorable little blog of yours. You’re at a party with your friends,” Carmilla lists the facts and for the first time since you blacked out your equilibrium settles itself. Her eyes are like pools, daring you to dive in deep and promising you safety. You don’t look away, you can’t, you are utterly transfixed by her appearance.

“That was then. This is now. You’re safe now,” She says and you remember the first time she said those words to you, all those weeks ago when you flashed on her bed and for the first time you told someone else about Betty and about the attack. Her eyes are filled with questions and with the desire to get you through this and you want her to so badly. You’re so ashamed that her hard work and yours has been so painfully undone but there is no disappointment there, only an understanding that helps you breathe again.

“I can’t talk about it, not here, not now,” You whisper, silently imploring her, begging her, for what you’re not quite sure, you just need her to do something, _anything_. She watches you carefully for a moment, lips tugging at her bottom lip as if she’s thinking hard. A second later she nods her head, more to herself than you and holds out her hand.

“Come on cutie, I’m going to take you home, you’re safe with me,” She says and you believe that with all of your heart. When you submitted yourself to her in that bedroom you became a different version of yourself. But it made you strong and capable again. You trusted her with everything that you are. In that moment that trust became the most powerful weapon you possessed. It was your decision to make, to take that step, and that was the control you needed. Tonight was a disaster but the promise in her eyes is not.

Your fingers curl inside hers and you can barely mumble your goodbyes to your friends. You promise to call them, to explain, not sure if you actually mean that, but you have to give them something. Carmilla escorts you through the still curious crowd, collecting your coats from a waiting server before guiding you out into the cooling night.

She is silent as you walk, your hand tucked safely in the crook of her arm. Her pace is slow, unhurried, she doesn’t suggest a taxi and neither do you and you’re glad. The cool air and Carmilla’s presence brings back the sense of reality that had fled when you flashed. You cringe when you think about just how much of a fool you made of yourself but you’re not angry, just sad. It’s not your fault, but your brain likes to tell you it is.

“I can’t talk about it, every time I try I just clam up. That’s why normal therapy doesn’t work,” You’re not sure why you tell her this after a good ten minutes of easy silence. She doesn't respond at first, just guides you across the road and towards an attractive looking apartment block. It’s modern and clean, all straight lines and angles and a doorman holds open the door as you approach.

“I know you can’t. You don’t trust yourself, you don’t trust yourself not to flash or to not recover,” Carmilla says, nodding at the doorman as she leads you into an opulent foyer, across a plush red carpet to an elevator on the far wall. She leads you inside the moment the doors clang open, fingers pressing the number seven on the console.

“I trust you, I can talk to you, but only after we, ya know,” Your voice tapes off, cheeks blushing at the memory of the actions Carmilla takes to make you talk. It’s her trust that means the most to you, the trust you have in her. She nods in acknowledgment, your eyes meeting in the mirrored wall of the elevator. You look good together, her arm holding you up, despite the ashen colour of your cheeks and the fearful look still present in your eyes. Every time you blink you see the war, every step you take aches with phantom pain. You’re breaking hard this time, but the presence of this beautiful woman beside you is steadying.

She looks pensive, teeth still biting her lip an outward sign of anxiety that you’ve never seen before. Her painted nails stand out against her pale skin, and yours, but her hands are strong and steady.

The lift slows to a stop and dings open, and you allow yourself to be lead into a bright corridor, you walk past what are obviously apartment doors until you reach  one at the end of the hallway. Carmilla sighs heavily and releases your arm, leaning a shoulder against the door as she stares at you.

“I’m breaking my own rules here cupcake, and that worries me. But we need to talk about what happened tonight, I need you to know that what happened is okay, that set backs are a part of recovery. But your therapy relies on touch and control, my control. I can’t do that without playing Master, do you understand that?” Her voice is steady but you can feel her anxiety, feel just how uneasy she is. Your hand presses against her forearm and tense muscles relax beneath your touch.

“I understand, _Master_ ,” You implore her, fingers clenching her arm tightly. She regards you for a moment carefully before nodding again, a hand fisting into her coat pocket to pull out a set of keys. A second later she steps back to let you in first, your footsteps tentative as you enter the apartment.

Lights flick on and you realize this just isn’t any old apartment. This is a home, it’s loved, well worn and personal. It’s bright and airy, a short hallway leads into a large open plan, kitchen, living and dining area and although it’s modern and almost clinical. It feels like a home. The couch is white leather and adorned with bright pillows and a throw. A colorful rug matches colorful prints on the wall and the stainless steel kitchen looks user friendly and warm.

No this isn’t just any apartment, you realize and when she said she’d take you home she meant it. But that home is Carmilla’s. This is her apartment you’re standing in and now her sudden unease makes complete and total sense. Room 307 is located on the opposite side of the city, and you’ve both been drinking, not an ideal scenario. So she brought you here to her own home and that trust she places in you and her desire to help you through this trauma steals your breath.

“It’s beautiful,” You whisper, eyes circling the room, resting on the well-stocked bookcase in a little crook in the corner, a matching white recliner set beside the window overlooking the twinkling city. You twist back to look at Carmilla and the look in her eyes sets you aflame. Pure, unbridled desire, naked and more than obvious stares back at you and in that instant you’re hot and ready and more than willing to submit to her.

“Come here,” She says and you don’t hesitate to obey. Her hands cradling your face are gentle and strong, but her kiss is hot and bruising. She’s a fire, and familiar desire and the ache between your legs makes you shiver in anticipation and want. Her obvious need for you, her willingness to open her home and help you and her heat throw you further from the fear still lingering behind your eyes.

She leads you by the hand to her bedroom, shutting the door behind you, fingers grasping hold of the zipper on your dress. She slides it down slowly, lips following the path it makes along your spine and you’re all but panting with need. She lets you slide the dress from your shoulders, fingers trailing across your skin, lightly tracing the scar on your shoulder before sliding round to cup your now naked breasts. You moan when her fingers pinch your nipples, the sensation of her still clothed body pressing into you from behind and the slightly pleasurable pain of her grip on your soft, but hardening flesh a heady concoction.

“I’m going to make it all better sweetheart. I’m going to touch you, push you to the edge and reaffirm that self-belief you've lost. You will follow what I say, you will enjoy what I give you, is that acceptable Miss Hollis?” She whispers these words into your ear, her lips kissing your neck, tongue tracing the shell of your ear before she tugs the lobe into her mouth, sucking lightly.

Your answer of _yes master_ , is a groan, weak knees almost giving way before Carmilla’s strong arm slides around your waist to hold you up. Your eyes take in her darkened bedroom, barely able to comprehend what you’re seeing through the hazy spell she’s cast on you. Her room is not what you had expected. Room 307 is opulent and decadent, all dark wood and red and black furnishing. Her own bedroom however is just as bright as her living space. The bed adorned with soft eggshell coloured sheets, a built in wardrobe running the length of the wall opposite the bed, its mirrored doors giving the room a spacious and open feel.

She guides you to the bed, turning you to sit on the edge, facing those mirrored doors. You catch sight of yourself in the mirrored glass, your flushed face and naked body not embarrassing you as much as you thought it would. Carmilla takes a step into your field of view, blocking the sight of your bare flesh and your gaze shifts to her. You watch her with rapt attention as her hands slide down her own zip. Your throat is dry, your breath catching as her breasts spill into view and you can only clench her bed sheets tighter.

She moves closer to you, sliding her now naked thigh between yours, your head directly in line with her breasts. Her fingers fist in your hair, sliding between silk locks and guiding you to her chest. You take her invitation liberally, tongue darting out to bathe rock hard nipples with hot saliva. Her whole body trembles beneath your touch, your hands cupping her ass and pulling her tight against your body.

You suck her nipple into your mouth, groaning at the taste hoping she can feel it the whole way down to her toes. Your hand caresses her other breast, soft flesh yielding to your touch. It’s Carmilla’s turn to voice her pleasure, your eyes shifting upwards to watch her head roll back, taut neck muscles stretched before you. It’s too tempting a sight to resist, your lips latching on to her skin, teeth nipping lightly at the point her neck and shoulder meet.

Her grip on your hair tightens, her hand jerking your head backwards, and you think you’ve over stepped your boundaries. But her eyes are black with want and her mouth smashing against yours is brutal, her tongue attempting to rip out your sanity. She pulls back, your chests pressing together as you share one breath. Your eyes glance over her shoulder, watching you both in the mirror, her naked skin pressing against yours. She’s so beautiful, all pale skin and naked strength, her dark hair stark against her flesh, her toned muscles shifting as she pulls you tight against her.

She turns her head, your eyes meeting in the mirror and you know, you know you’ve never felt as wanted or as exposed in all your life. It’s intoxicating and addictive, just like Carmilla Karnstein.

“Ah, do you see yourself, my darling?” She whispers, words as possessive as her fingers clutching at your shoulders. Your heart soars at her endearment, the look in her eyes controlled, but yet so powerful and raw all ramping you towards the edge of your own control.

She steps to the side, flesh chilled by her sudden absence. Her fingers press against your shoulders blades as she guides you to the edge of the bed, your feet pressed firm against the floor. She kneels on the bed beside you, draping her warm form along your left side, her breasts resting either side of your body. One of her arms slides behind your shoulders holding you close to her.

The other, well the other hand trails down the front of your body, her fingernails gliding around your nipples before descending downwards. She pinches your abdomen lightly, hot breaths and warm lips teasing your neck and your ear and she pauses with her hand just lightly resting on your pubic mound.

“Look in the mirror Laura. I want you to watch as I make you come, I want you to see me slip my fingers inside of you and pleasure you until you overflow,” She purrs into your skin and your whole body ignites at the thought of this voyeuristic turn your night has taken. You watch transfixed as her fingers rub over your shaved mound before they cease their merciless teasing and circle your very ready clit.

Your head rolls back and rests against hers at her touch, the arm she has pressed behind your shoulders the only thing keeping you upright. Your eyes can’t look away at the sight of her hand moving between your legs, the tendons in the back of her hand flexing with every rub, every pass, every finger she presses against you. Her hand slips downwards, fingers probing you with skillful ease, her palm heel grinding against your clitoris.

It’s one of the most erotic things you’ve ever seen, the look of pure concentration on her face as she tries to get you to climax. Your skin is flushed a delicious shade of pink, your hair mussed and wet with damp sweat. She presses two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out, before twisting them sideways to reach that spot that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll in your head.

Her rhythmic thrusting, brings you cantering to the edge, the heel of her palm dangerous and prefect against your clit, her hot breath and wet tongue along your neck a fire that consumes.

“Can I come Master?” You pant, barely able to speak, eyes roving between your own flushed face, frantic eyes and the blur that is Carmilla’s hand between your legs.

“Yes, come for me,” She orders and your whole body shudders at her command. Her pace reaches frantic, your hips rocking and rising in time to her thrusts and all too soon and not soon enough you’re coming, coming hard. But it’s her eyes in the mirror that you watch as you do, the pride and dark pleasure in them enough to shake your body with a smaller but no less powerful orgasm just when you thought it was over.

She catches you as you slump backwards, resting your sated and boneless body against her sheets, which feel so different than the ones in Room 307, swapping silk for Egyptian cotton. You smile lazily up at her, your arms welcoming her as she straddles your left thigh, the injured one, her moist, wet heated core drawing a ragged moan from your lips.

She pushes your right leg into the air, clutching it to her chest as she slowly rocks her hips back and forth. She kisses your calf muscle, her fingers curling around your foot, and massaging your skin. Her desire mixes with yours, sweat and arousal making you both slick and wet. Your recovery time has improved so dramatically since you started seeing her. Days long ago it took you several minutes after coming to stop feeling sensitive to the point of pain, but now you’re almost instantly ready for her to take you high again.

She slides upwards, pressing your clits together, gasps escaping you both as the pace of her rolling hips increases. Your hands rise, cupping her breasts and rubbing nipples beneath your palms. She cries her approval, rocking back and forward against you, the feel of her engorged clit almost impossibly hot against your own a more powerful aphrodisiac than watching yourself come.

She leans forward, pining your raised leg to your chest, her hands holding her up either side of your head. She presses hot and wet kisses against your neck and face, her teeth tugging at your lips and tongue soothing the ache. Your hands reach down and cup her ass again, supple flesh flexing beneath your touch. You drag her forward, raising your own hips as much as you can, tortuously grinding your throbbing centers together.

“Oh fuck Laura, yes,” She cries, head thrown back and you can feel her pulsating against you as she comes. You follow her over the edge, your breaths in tandem staccato, your bodies trembling and shivering as you fall together.

She collapses against your chest, and you wrap your arms around her, more than glad that she trusts you enough to support her, more than happy that you’ve got enough control from her desires to be strong enough to do it. She lazily kisses your throat and you’ve never been as grateful for her presence in your life.

Your embarrassment at your loss of control tonight abates beneath her warm skin. She’s solid and real and the demons in your head aren’t. You are the master of your own fate.

When she finally finds the strength to climb of you, she doesn't go far, she just tucks you against her, holding you like she usually does when all is said and done. It’s this moment that means the most to you. But, beneath the lingering sensations that still shake you both, you know something has changed. You’re not in Room 307, you’re here in her own bed and that makes all the difference.

Your heavy eyelids fall shut and you know you should probably go, that you didn’t pay for this session tonight. But that doesn't mean you don’t wonder what it’ll cost you. You just hope you have enough strength to pay the toll whatever it may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Spoilers for next chapter: POV change.  
>  
> 
> [badaax.tumblr.com](http://badaax.tumblr.com)


	9. No Flaws When You're Pretending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all and welcome to the latest instalment of Silence Looks Good on You. In today's chapter Carmilla has feelings, Laura punches a wall and LaF drinks coffee. 
> 
> Enjoy the show. 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

**Carmilla**

I don’t want to play this game with you, but playing it I am. I knew I was on a slippery slope all those weeks ago when we first met. You were broken, bruised, but unafraid. You looked at me with hope in your eyes and for the first time in years I felt my heart struggle against the cage I’d locked it in. Now I’m the one who is frightened. I spent so long building myself into the person you think you know, but the real me, the one underneath all the posturing, well she’s pretty fucking terrified right about now.

You looked so beautiful tonight in that form hugging blue dress, it highlighted curves, which I’ve come to intimately know, and it gave you a strength that you’d been missing. I knew from just one look that you felt a weight lifted from your shoulders, that sense of being normal a cure all in itself.

We’d stood with your friends, and you’d just watched, unaware that I was watching you in return. I knew you felt the charge in the air though, you’d looked at me with bright eyes shining with hope and that ever present desire and I wanted so badly to be what you needed me to be. But I can’t, because I’m not. I have my own demons.

But then you’d flashed, and everything sort of went to hell in a hand basket and the tears in your eyes and the way you shivered beneath your friends scrutiny was enough to break every resolve I’d built to protect myself from you. It’s not their fault they don’t understand, it’s not their fault they can’t “fix it” just as it isn’t your fault that this happened to you in the first place.

I’d invited you home last night, brought you to my house, shattered all my rules and built some new ones with your body. When you came, eyes locked with mine, I swear a part of me nearly lost itself with you. You’ve broken me Laura Hollis, and I’m not sure how to deal with that knowledge.

Now here we are, wrapped around each other in my own bed and it worries me that it feels so right. I wish it felt wrong, it would make this so much easier. But it doesn’t, you fit in my arms and I like seeing you here in my own bed. A place that none other has been, not since I became Master, not since _her_ , but it does no good dwelling on the past. Not when the future is so sweet and feels like hope and smells like chocolate and wants nothing more than to hold me even when we sleep.

I know you feel it too cupcake, and that’s what worries me the most. One day you’ll heal and although the scars will never fade, you’ll move on. I know you’re brave and stupid and all kinds of righteous and I know you’ll ask me for things I can’t give. I can’t be your future, can't be the missing parts of you. I know you’ll ask, because that’s who you are and I’m dancing with the fire hoping that the flames don’t consume me completely.

I shouldn’t meet you for coffee, but I enjoy your company. I shouldn’t care about your past outside of the role I play in your recovery, but I do care. I tell myself not to give in to those eyes of yours, but I do. I bend and buckle under the weight of everything you are and on some twisted level, part of me wants to be what you need. But I am my own worst enemy, you’ve fought enough battles, you’ll soldier on without me.

You shift in my arms, your naked skin pressed firm against mine and although the sweat has long since dried; you slide against my flesh like smooth silk, like the sheets on the bed in Room 307. You mumble something under your breath, and my lips curl upwards, an automatic response, which seems to happen more and more around you everyday. I’ve made a living of being able to control my emotions, but you shatter that resolve.

Your leg twitches, thigh pressing between mine, my fingers slipping to trace the scar that marks your sacrifice. I’m entranced by it, you think it ugly, you think it mars your skin but you still wear it with pride. It’s the symbol of your victory, that despite all the odds you survived. You know loss, but you’re a fighter. It’s beautiful.

You speak again, still trapped in the throes of unconsciousness, and your limbs come to life. You twist in my embrace, and your forehead creases, eyebrows almost meeting in the middle your frown is so pronounced. No longer do you sleep peacefully. Your eyelids flicker, and your hands push at my arms, your body recognizing my hold as foreign and therefore unwelcome.

“Betty, no! Man down, we need a medic!” You all but shout these words, desperation lacing your words, as your dreams become nightmares. I’m out of bed, and circling it until I reach your side, before I’m even aware of it. I slip on a cloth bathrobe as I go, the coarse material rubbing at my skin, but I am oblivious to it, all my focus is on you.

You thrash in the bed, your arms hitting against the space my body had been only seconds before. I’ve seen violent PTSD related dreams before, and I know from experience that the best coarse of action is to get out of the firing line and avoid doing anything that could potentially make it worse.

“Laura, Laura wake up,” I say as firmly as I can, ignoring the tear tracks coating your face and the way your fingers grip the sheets so tight your knuckles turn white. “Laura,” I resist every urge to reach out and shake you, because that is exactly the kind of thing that would be counter productive. But, my voice alone is enough, you wake violently, bolting upright, chest heaving and your eyes frantically scanning the room, looking for enemies that may be waiting to pounce.

“Oh fuck,” You gasp, one hand pressing between your naked breasts, the other fisting in your hair, tugging mercilessly at the roots. I perch on the edge of the bed, reaching out a hand, fingers curling around your shoulder. You stiffen at the touch, eyes flashing to mine before relief makes you sag. I let you fall into my arms, your trembling body almost feverish, I know you’re crying, but your face presses against my chest as you hide it from me.

“You’re alright cupcake, it was just a dream,” I say as soothingly as possibly, fingers entwining with strands of your hair.

“Shit, I’m sorry Carm. It’s been a while since I’ve had such a bad nightmare. Normally when I have one, I can roll over and go back to sleep but I think the flash tonight kinda brought everything back,” Your voice is muffled by my bathrobe, but your breath is hot even through the material and the shaking slowly subsides. You swallow in a huge breath and pull yourself backwards. Red-rimmed eyes meet mine and molten fire pulls me asunder.

“You don’t apologize for this. Ever. You know I don’t judge you, and you know nothing you say or do here could make me think less of you,” my fingers cup your cheek, thumb smoothing over pale skin and collecting tears on its travels. You nod, it’s simple, but it’s enough. I want to be the one that comforts you when you need it and that scares me most of all.

You fall backwards, collapsing into the sheets, your hair framing your face like a silky, brown waterfall. Your hand reaches for me, tugging at the bathrobe, encouraging me to join you once more. The rational part of my brain tells me to not give in, it tells me to get you dressed and send you home, even though it is 4 o’clock in the morning. But there is nothing rational about the things you make me feel and every moment we spend together it becomes more and more difficult to conceal that from you.

So instead of doing the rational thing, I follow your lead and slip back under the covers. The only concession I make to the sane part of my mind is my decision to keep the robe firmly clasped and covering my body. You pillow your head on my shoulder, curling your arm over my waist and pulling yourself flush against my side. You fit. I hate that I notice. I hate that I like it.

Silence fills the spaces between us, but you speak volumes in the words that you don’t say. I know you feel it too, and that worries me, you’re unpredictable and as endearing as I find that it makes me uneasy. But tonight is not for those kinds of thoughts. I will remain professional, I’ll help you as best I can and then I’ll let you go. But until then I’m going play with fire.

“Why did you join the military?” I ask you the question I’ve been curious about since that first tentative email you sent me. What possesses a journalist major to put it all on hold to become a soldier? You’re not what usually springs to mind when you think of female soldiers, but there’s strength in your eyes and pride in your shoulders that just screams warrior.

You don’t answer for the longest of time and at first I think you have already succumbed to sleep. But your fingers tighten their grip on my waist and you exhale against my shoulder.

“I’ve been asked that question so many times, and I always say the same thing. I wanted to travel, I wanted a career, I wanted to remain as fit as I’d been throughout college. I felt strongly about the cause even if I didn’t fully agree with the reasoning behind it. I mean, all these things are technically true,” You pause here and I can practically see the cogs in your brain turning. You’re an open book and I’ve come to enjoy reading you so much.

“But the real truth is, I wanted to prove to myself that I could, to prove to everyone that I could. I lost my mother in a car accident when I was thirteen, I was with her when it happened, a drunk driver ran a red light and my mom turned the wheel putting her side of the car directly in his path. She was killed instantly and all I got was a bruise from the air bag,” You pause here, shivering despite the heat shared between us. I stay silent, knowing that there is more to this story, knowing that if I speak now you’ll never be truly honest with yourself, and I think you need that. I’m very good at not practicing what I preach, but this has never been about me.

“My mom was like that. Brave, selfless. She was in the Naval reserve in college and although she never had to serve in a combat zone, she said it was some of the best memories she had. I get really seasick, so the Navy was out for me, but I wanted to be just like her. So I joined the army, got shipped out to Afghanistan right after basic and never looked back. War is awful, but I was coping, I only had two months left of my last tour and then I was getting out, but then our convoy was attacked. I just can’t believe I lived when all those good soldiers died. It hardly seems fair,” Your voice tapers of and it is my turn to tighten my grip on you.

I breathe a kiss into your hair, you smell like strawberries and sex and it’s a combination so powerful I wish I could bottle it. You are beautiful and vulnerable and right now you are mine. Possession ripples through me like an unwanted ache and I welcome the rush of words it brings.

“You are brave cupcake, and smart and strong. War isn’t fair, and now you carry around the ghosts of the people you left behind. Survivors guilt is a terrible burden, believe me I know, but each day you move on is another victory. Your mom died to protect you and you almost died to protect complete strangers in that warzone. You shouldn't be so hard on yourself,” I need you to believe that.

“You’ve helped Carm. My ghosts don’t seem so big anymore, now it’s your ghosts I worry about,” Every time you shorten my name, my heart skips a little, and the concern in your voice and the care that I pretend not to see in your eyes makes me numb. You are a mystery Laura Hollis and I’m not sure I want to unravel it.

***

 **Laura**  

“So how are you doing?” LaF’s question is a little unsure, almost reluctant. It’s probably one of your least favorite questions in the world to answer and they know it.

“I’m alright, some party the other night huh?” Your lips twist upwards in a sardonic smile a knowing grin matched by the one on LaF’s face. They sigh, running a hand through fiery locks before lowering it to you look at you.

“You scared us L, you know that right?” You know they don’t mean to hurt you with their words, but they do, it gnaws and twists at your insides and you’re ashamed because of it.

“I didn't mean for that to happen,” you shrug, hands twisting the empty paper cup that once held hot chocolate in your hands. “I’ve gotten pretty good at coping with unexpected triggers, but last night nothing worked.”

LaFontaine smiles at you, their hand pressing lightly against yours. They are probably your best friend in the whole world, because they get you better than anyone else right now. Perry needs normal, Danny needs to protect and Kirsch just wants you to be happy. Only LaF knows that sometimes those things can’t happen, sometimes you remain broken, it’s just what you do with the pieces that are left behind that makes a difference.

“It’s scary for us Laura, you act so different during a flash and none of us know how to deal with that. We want to help you but you can’t even talk about it, and we all walk on eggshells around you because we don’t want to make it worse. I’m not saying these things to hurt you, or make you feel guilty. I just need you to know why we get it so wrong sometimes,” LaF pauses, eyes drifting over the trees that surround you. The park is quiet today, it’s a Monday afternoon and all the kids are at school, and the mother and toddler walks are usually done in the morning. It’s just you two, sharing a hot drink surrounded by nature that seeks to make a mockery of how unnatural you feel inside.

“Perry and Danny both wanted to know why it happened at the party. We all thought you were getting better,” LaF asks the question without really ever asking it, and you wish you had an answer that could make them feel better. But you don’t.

“Carmilla explained it using the analogy of damp in a house. You can treat it, paint over it, make it look like it’s gone away but it never really does. It’s always there, just under the surface, waiting to show itself again. I’ll always struggle with this. I can get stronger, I can get better at dealing with the symptoms, and the attacks will come less frequently. But it will always be there,” You curse the way your voice shakes and cracks at the end of your explanation, and you curse the way hot warmth pools behind your eyes and a lump forms in your throat. You are so sick of crying. You’re a soldier for crying out loud.

LaF simply nods, they get it, you know that, but sometimes even they need to hear the words. Thinking about Carmilla though sends strange warmth into your gut. She’d been so calm, so steady, so there for you on Friday night. You hadn’t expected her to take you back to her own home, it had seemed like something from a dream. After your little heart to heart in the early hours of the morning you’d both fallen back to sleep. You’d awoken to the feel of her arms still wrapped around your body, her breasts pressing into your back, her lips against your neck. She’d made you both coffee and scrambled eggs for breakfast, you’d talked about trivial things and at no point did it feel awkward or confusing. It felt normal, like if you could forget about the fact that she was your therapist and that the only reason you were in her house in the first place was because you’d flashed in front of all of your friends and their families, it would be perfect.

You could almost kid yourself that you were in a relationship, that she was your _girlfriend_ and that you’d stayed the night. Watching her stalk around her kitchen like a predator wearing naught but her bed robe and her own beautiful skin you realized that you were totally and utterly infatuated with her. Not just because sex with her was magnificent on levels you could scarcely comprehend, but because there was a connection between you. It was more than just patient and therapist. You felt like you were beginning to understand her too and you were so grateful to her for bringing you back to her home. 

You could feel the shift, the change between you, as she led you to the door. She’d offered to walk you home, but you needed the free time to get your head together before you got home. You would have a million missed calls and messages from your well meaning friends, your dad would probably have sent one frantic text telling you he was on his way because Danny in all her protective glory would think that it was a good idea to tell him. LaF would have sent an apology for Danny’s actions and Perry would probably have already stopped by to clean your apartment and leave brownies on your table.

It was predictable because this was what happened every time you had a bad flash. But rather than think about how exhausting it all was, it was easier to accept the gentle kiss Carmilla breathed against your lips and to enjoy the feel of her fingers entwined with yours as she let you out. You practically floated the whole way home. 

You hadn’t met on Sunday for your usual coffee/hot chocolate, but you didn’t read in to it. She’d already told you at the start of the week that she had an appointment to keep and you didn’t want to know the details. It was starting to feel a little too uncomfortable thinking about her life outside of her work, about the kinds of things she did at Room 307 with people who weren’t clients. You told yourself, swore blindly in fact, that it wasn't jealousy that was starting to rear its ugly head. But your parents had told you it was wrong to lie.

The more you thought about her with other people, others who submitted themselves to her in the ways you’d found yourself doing the more it made your skin crawl and your heart itch. Every time you pictured her you saw that beautiful powerful woman who’d knelt at her feet. You wanted to believe that things were changing between you both, but that was a fools dream. You were just a client, and you were still sufficiently broken that you weren’t strong enough to walk away from her hold yet.

But, you would hold these thoughts close to your chest. You could move past it, because there were things that were more important and Carmilla had never lied about who she was. It was one of the things you admired most about her.

You wave goodbye to LaF, shoving your hands into the pockets of your canvas jacket, hoping that your friendships could be repaired. You knew it was scary for them, but you just hoped they realized it was even more terrifying for you. That was one thing Carm got, she understood just how frightened being so out of control made you. It was her control that gave you back your own.

You had to concentrate now on getting better again, it was the only thing that would work. You made it all the way home, started researching for your next journal article and made a dinner of butternut squash soup before you thought about the events during and after the party again. You thought you’d be alright, you could get back to the way things were, but when your neighbors in the flat above yours dropped something on the floor with a heavy bang in the early hours of the morning, you’d blacked out and come too with blood on your knuckles and a fresh hole in the plasterboard behind your head. You realized then that maybe this getting better thing was not meant for you. That insight really fucking hurt.

***

**Carmilla**

_Come on cupcake, where are you?_ You’re late again, this is the third time in as many sessions and there’s only so much I can punish you for the indiscretion before it borders on obscene. Besides, it’s not like you’re doing it so I _will_ punish you, I know some of my other submissives in the past have been prone to that kind of behavior, but I quickly put a stop to it. Seeking punishment from me is not the way I operate, they quickly learn that. You, however, don’t want the painful pleasure. You’ve arrived late, been instantly apologetic and you accept your punishment with the right amount of humility and arousal. But it doesn't get to the root cause of why you’re late in the first place.

In the two and a half weeks since that ill-fated party you’ve been a much different person and it’s starting to really worry me. That makes me more than a little uncomfortable because I thought I’d been able to push my emotions for you into a box in my mind that sat nestled snuggly beside the other boxes filled with my demons. But now you’re dragging that box out and it’s beginning to burst at the seams and I can barely hold it shut anymore.

Your progress too has taken a backwards slide and if your blog is anything to go by, and it usually is, you’ve started to dream again and the flashbacks are becoming more traumatic and frequent instead of easing up. You seem fine during our sessions, but you’re an awfully good actress and although you seem to be enjoying yourself I know you’re just going through the motions and it’s getting us nowhere.

I just want to help you. I’ve never been this desperate to help anyone before and it’s a feeling that I don’t enjoy. Not because I don’t want to spend time with you but because I hate seeing you suffer, I hate seeing you frightened, I hate seeing you in pain. Normally I can remain objective, cut of my emotions and remain detached, whether it be with a sub or a patient. But you Laura Hollis, you make me want to break all the rules I’ve ever set for myself and I can’t even find it in me to care.

It’s Wednesday evening, Elsie has gone home for the day and you’re my last appointment, and I mean that in every sense. Ever since that day a few months ago when you saw me with another sub I’m extra careful to make sure that there won’t be a repeat performance. If I was psychoanalyzing my own actions I’m sure I’d say it was because I never wanted to see that twisted look of pain on your face again. I never want to see you walk away from me again, shoulders stiff to stop them from shaking.

I am not a fool, I am not some simple child, I know that you’re developing feelings for me and sooner or later I’m going to have to address that. I gave you an ultimatum weeks ago, to stay or go, but I knew you would choose to stay. Because that’s who you are cupcake, you’re strong and brave and so wonderfully naïve despite having seen the horrors of war that I knew you wouldn't back down. I counted on it. In some ways your lack of progress and backsliding has helped me to see that despite my worries that you were becoming dependent on me, that it is simply not the case. You’re much too stubborn for that.

The sound of your soft knocks on the closed door, shake me from my thoughts. I attempt to relax, slouching against the back of the couch, fingers fisting in the material. I’m not used to being so out of control, you just do things to me. I call for you to enter and you do, stepping swiftly into the room, shoulders hunched in ready submission, but your eyes bright as they scan the room for unknown dangers. When they finally fall to rest on me, the deep gold in amber irises causes shivers to race up my spine, and my flesh to prickle in anticipation. Sex with you is incredible and I cannot wait to have you again.

“I’m sorry I’m late master,” You say softly, lowering your eyelids to the floor, fingers twisting around each other as you squirm uncomfortably beneath my unwavering gaze. I wonder if you can see just how delectable I think you are. I am bold enough to admit that I am a shallow creature, and I enjoy nothing more than looking at you, whether you’re clothed, naked or writing in pleasure beneath me.

“That's the third time in a row Miss Hollis, you have to know by now that this is unacceptable. Do you care to explain yourself?” I adopt the voice that I know will make you tremble, the voice I reserve solely for you in this moment. You fidget again, and I realize rather belatedly that I’m actually holding my breath in anticipation of your answer. The fact that you haven’t begun to undress yet also hasn't escaped me and the pit of worry gnawing at my stomach expands into a cavern.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this. Ever since that damn party, it’s getting worse Carm,” You breathe these words and they float between us filling the air like a shout. Your pet name for me steals the air from my own lungs and I know that right now this conversation is between you and me, not Master and sub. I sit up straight, lowering my folded legs and gesturing to the empty space beside me. You hesitate for only a second before moving to my side, lowering yourself to perch on the edge of the cushion, your fingers gripping the hem of your jean jacket so tight your knuckles turn white.

“Talk to me Laura, I can’t do anything to help if I don’t know what’s going on,” I say, hand moving to rub soothing circles across your back. You sigh at my touch, relaxing tense muscles ever so slightly, raising red-rimmed eyes to meet my own.

“It was supposed to be getting easier but it’s not. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t leave my damn apartment. I jump at the slightest of sounds. It feels like it did when I first came back, I’m so sick and tired of being terrified and this isn’t helping anymore. What if I never get better? What if I’m stuck this way? I can’t live like that, I just can’t,” Your words tumble across each other, but the pain lacing them and the tears in your eyes affect me in ways I haven’t felt in years. Not for the first time since I’ve met you do I see myself. Broken, fragile, a mess. Once again I’m struck by just how much it hurts _me_ to see you hurt.

“You know, there’s noting about this situation that makes sense, there’s nothing about it that’s fair or easy. I’d love to say that there’s an easy fix, a quick solution but trust me when I tell you that there’s not. I’ve been there Laura, I’ve been where you are. I’ve been that frightened and alone and so damn tired. But trust me when I say that it does get better, I need you to believe that because if you leave here doubting that then I’ve failed and I’m not sure what else I can do for you,” I turn to face you, pressing both hands to your face, holding your gaze and willing heat into your damp cheeks.

“I understand if you want to go. If you’ve had enough of this and want to try something else,” I pause here because speaking those words makes bile rise in my throat at the thought of you walking out now. “But you’re not a quitter. I believe that. If you trust me, if you stay, I want to try something else, something different that might just help,” I lower my hands to grip yours, easing your hold away from your own clothes to clutch at me instead. You stare at me like I hold all the answers and I hope to the stars that I do.

“I trust you,” The corners of your lips twitch ever so slightly at your quiet admission and that’s all I needed to hear. I pull you towards me, wrapping my arms around you knowing that I’m breeching those rules again, knowing that I don’t care. “But how do you know that whatever you’re planning will work?” You ask, voice muffled by the silk adorning my shoulders.

“Because it worked for me cutie,” I smile ruefully, the corners of my mouth shifting upwards. You sigh again and squeeze me tighter before drawing back, matching my careful smile with one of your own.

“One day I’m going to ask what happened to you, and one day I hope you’ll tell me,” You say evenly and I instantly think about wishing you good luck with that fruitless endeavor but you have a way of undoing me, a way of making me spill my secrets that I know by now it’s better just to keep my mouth shut. “So what’s this master plan of yours?” You ask, the smile reaching your eyes this time at the way my eyes roll at your feeble pun.

I don’t answer you though, I simply get to my feet and hold my hand out for you to take. You do without hesitation now, warm fingers sliding between my own and I pull you to your feet. I lead you towards the door to the adjoining bedroom and your steps hurry to match mine. You don’t speak again until we’ve entered the room and this time I’m the one who is nervous and unsure. It’s a gamble and a risk and not just to you, because it’s been so long since I reversed the rolls I’d played in my head that I’m not sure how I’m going to react.

“What’s wrong Carm? You can tell me,” You ask, thumb running over the back of our joined hands and it helps to center me. I haven’t even told you what you’ve to do and you’re already mastering me.

“For today’s session I want to swap roles. I want you to be the one in charge, not me. I know that’s not what you pay for and it’s not what we’ve talked about. But take it from someone who has experience being on both sides of the relationship, I think being the master is what you need to find your self belief again,” I watch you carefully as I speak, your eyes telling me a whole story without you ever needing to open your mouth. The initial disbelief slowly gives way to interest and by the time we’ve reached acceptance I’m already mentally preparing myself that you’re the one in charge this time.

“Okay Carmilla, I want to try this. I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about what it would be like to do a role reversal,” You laugh a little at your own admission, and it’s so endearingly sweet that I can’t help but indulgently smile at you like you are a charming little child. “But I will do it under one condition though,” you add, holding up your finger.

“Off course cupcake, anything,” I add and inwardly cringe at just how true that statement really is.

“You don’t call me master. You just call me Laura,” it’s a line she’s asking me to cross. A line she’s laying and asking me to pulverize into nothingness. There is a reason I use the nicknames during play, because I don’t want to form attachments beyond those I need to for the dominant/submissive bond to work. I can’t break my walls down, not ever again, not after the last time I let someone in and judging by the look in your eyes, you know damn well Laura Hollis just what you’re asking of me. You’ve got me fucking pegged and I don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“Okay Laura. You’re the boss here, we’ll do it your way. Just take it slow, try to remember some of the things I’ve done to you and apply those to me. You’ll find that it’s pretty instinctual. I know from what we’ve talked about in the past you enjoy being an equal top and bottom in a relationship. It’s the same kind of principles here, just remember though that my control comes through my submission to you, not because you can dominate me,” I tell you and you nod along in understanding. You’re a smart woman, and a quick study, you took to submission very quickly and I have no doubts you’ll apply yourself once again.

“We’ve talked about hard limits and soft limits and I know you remember what mine are. If I want to stop at any time my safe word is ‘Hogwarts’ okay?” I’m glad now for all the pillow talk, we’ve been preparing ourselves for this moment for weeks and I never even realized it. One day you’d asked me to say what I liked and disliked and we were both pleasantly surprised to discover that we have very similar tastes. Your eyes sparkle mischievously when I mention my safe word, but I just shrug. “You finally convinced me to read those damn books, and you were right, I did enjoy them.”

“I still can’t believe a grown woman hadn’t read them in the first place, but I’m glad my persistence paid off. I knew you could read something that wasn’t written by an old philosopher,” You step closer as you tease me, your arms looping around my neck, muscled forearms resting on my shoulders. “Thank you Carm for this. I hope you know that I didn’t ever want to walk away, but I’m willing to try anything right about now.”

You give me no more room to think or speak, you simply lean in and steal my sanity with your kiss, warm lips blistering against my own. You told me once, that I kiss you in ways no one else ever has but I don’t think you realize just how much you affect me with your own. You’re wild and hot, a tempest burning against my skin and I’d happily stay in your storm for the rest of my days if it were possible to do so.

“I want you to take of your clothes and lie down on the bed. Do you think you can do that for me Carm?” You whisper against my lips, biting and nipping your way across my jaw, to nuzzle a spot beneath my ear that makes my knees go weak. I nod dumbly, hands holding tightly to the sides of your jacket and every submissive instinct I’d had to learn comes crawling right back in.

I stand back shakier than I would like, cheeks burning at your knowing smirk. I slide of the silk robe covering my lingerie, skin prickling as the heated air between us washes over me. I unclasp my bra, throwing it on top of the discarded robe before bending down and allowing my panties to do the same. Your eyes follow me as I turn away to cross the room. The bed dips beneath my weight as I shuffle towards the center of it.

I breathe deeply, turning over and resting my head on the black silk pillows at the head of the bed. The way the gold in your eyes darkens to molten fire sends heat through my veins and the wetness between my legs is only a small indicator of just how much you turn me on. Normally when I am the one in charge, it is your arousal that is the most important factor in the room, but now your intense gaze is focused on me. Focused on making me submit to you and I’m glad that you stuck around long enough for me to do just that.

“I want you to touch yourself,” Your voice is nothing more than a husky rasp and your obvious desire for me makes me even wetter than before. “Start slow, fingers on your nipples.”

I do as you order, the dark red painted nails of both of my hands stark against my pale breasts. I circle my areolas, hips shifting in a futile attempt at relieving the pressure already building between my legs. When I allow my fingers to settle on my nipples, the groan that escapes me when I pinch at them is echoed by the one that leaves you. I look over at you, breath catching even through the haze of my lust. One of your hands rests on top of your own breasts, the other cups yourself between your thighs and despite the fact that you’re in charge right now, I’m enjoying just how much power I still have over you.

“O-okay,” You all but croak, releasing the hold you have on yourself. “Stop playing with your breasts. I want you to move your hands lower, I want you to tell me how wet you are.”

The blush on your cheeks is beautiful, and once again I am blown away but just how much you make my heart pound. I follow your orders though, moving both hands away from my breasts, sliding them slowly and as sensually as I can across my stomach before moving lower.

I move one hand to my throbbing core, the other resting just above my clitoris. I spread my legs as wide as I can, giving you an unobstructed view of what I know is one very hot, and very aching center. I move both hands, searing desire covering them completely.

“I’m so wet baby, you’ve made me so fucking wet,” I groan through clenched teeth, back arching as my fingertips circle my clit. I hear you curse from your spot across the room and it only heightens my arousal, warmth gushing over my fingers as I slowly pump them in and out of myself.

The bed dips as you move to kneel beside me, your hands covering my breasts, fingers rolling over my aching nipples as my furious rubbing becomes even more frantic. You lean forward, lips latching on to my neck, sucking and biting, marking me like I enjoy marking you.

“Don’t forget to wait for me to tell you to come,” You whisper and I answer your words with a broken moan. You pinch my nipples, pulling them to the point of pain before releasing them. You lower your head, latching on to one with your lips and nipping at it with your teeth. Your hand shifts downwards to rub my abdomen, your blunt nails scratching at my skin. You release my tortured and now swollen nipple with a wet sounding pop, your pupils blown black and your cheeks flushed with pleasure.

“I’ve never told you this, but you are so fucking beautiful when you come. I want you to do that for me now okay?” You rub my stomach, moving lower until your hand rests against my shaved pubic mound and you rub at it instead. 

“Laura, fuck!” I groan, submitting myself to your touch, to the command in your voice and the dominance in your touch. I let you own me and control me because it is what you need, and I can’t quite ignore the small voice in my head that tells me that I needed this too, but only with you. My hands blur between my legs, fingers pinching at my clit, three of them pumping in and out of me with free abandon. It’s sloppy and messy and so utterly glorious. When I come, I come hard, eyes locked with yours and your voice whispering my name and telling me how beautiful I am over and over until I’m nothing but air.

I sag boneless against the sheets as the worst of the orgasm subsides, my body trembles with delirious after shakes and I welcome the soothing way your hands touch me now. There is something surreal about coming down from orgasmic bliss completely naked while someone kneels next to you still fully clothed. But that is a power play all in itself. I’ve done it to you before, and now you’re doing it to me and there’s something wonderful in this surrender.

“Sit up Carmilla, I want you to undress me now,” You command me, and despite the exhaustion pulling at my limbs I force myself through it. I allow the thought of having your naked flesh pressed against mine reawaken my libido. My fingers are surprisingly steady as I slide off your top. I lean forward and watch you carefully, lips pressing against your neck and waiting for you to tell me to stop. You don’t, so I kiss you harder, reveling in the way you shudder beneath my mouth.

My hands make quick work of your flannel shirt, casting it aside, before breaking the contact of my mouth on your jawline to remove your tank top. I trail kisses down your front, sliding your bra straps from your shoulders and undoing the clasp with well-practiced fingers.

My lips close around your nipple the same moment my fingers find the button of your jeans. I pop it out, sliding down the zip and pushing them as far down your legs as I can, in the kneeling position we’re both in. Your fingers fist in the back of my hair and you hold me tight to your breast, moving my head in the way you want me to suck on you. I shove my hand into your underwear taking liberties with your commands and almost losing myself completely at just how wet you are right now.

“Enough,” you growl, pulling my head away from your chest. You watch me carefully, eyes dark and filled with the thoughts of what you’d like to do to me right now. “You’re going to be a very good girl and make me come aren’t you?” You ask and I have to restrain my smile. You’re doing so well, and the black in your eyes is all desire, none of the fear remains and that’s part of what this is all about.

“Of course Laura. I’ll do whatever you ask,” I murmur, eyes shifting to look at your swollen lips, swollen by the kisses you’ve bestowed on me. You lean forward, pecking at my mouth in unspoken acquiescence, then you push me backwards, sliding off your jeans and boy shorts before lying on your back on the sheets, mirroring the position I had been in moments before.

“I want you to taste me, to lick me until I come,” You blush again as you speak and I know the prude in you is struggling with this. But it impresses me that you’re doing it anyway and communication between us is important. I want you to use me for your own pleasure, nothing would please me more.

I move to kneel between your legs, laying my front down on the silk sheets and allowing your thighs to rest against my ears. I start slow, actually looking forward to this more than is probably healthy. You always taste so good and knowing that this time you’re the one in charge is making it even sweeter. I kiss your inner thighs, loving the feel of the muscles twitching and flexing beneath my lips. I nibble a path to the crease of your thigh and groin before moving to repeat the action on the other side.

Your fingers slide in to my hair guiding me gently to the spot that you want me, need me in most. I lap slowly at the moisture seeping out of you, it’s so abundant and plentiful that it instantly sticks to my cheeks, coating my chin and throat as I move my head. I tongue my way from the bottom of your slit upwards until I reach your clit, teeth grazing it gently. You groan at the sensation, fingers pulling tight at my hair.

I slide my hands over your hips, reaching up to cup your breasts, fingers squeezing you and playing you as my mouth attempts to devour you whole. You told me once, that oral sex is one of your most favorite things in the entire world. I love it too, I love when you perform for me, so I’m determined to make this good for you.

It feels like days, days spent drinking you and tasting you and making you tremble against my tongue. But you are so responsive, so hot for me that I could quite gladly do this for the rest of my days. But all good things must come to an end, and for you I hope that end is explosive.

“Yes, oh yes right there,” You gasp, thighs tightening painfully against my head, fingers pulling at the roots of my hair. “Oh shit Carm, yes!” You cry my name when you come and my hands struggle to hold onto you as your whole body arches into the air, your hips dragging me upwards as I keep my mouth firmly latched onto your clit.

I keep sucking on it, sliding wet fingers into you, pumping as steadily as I can, an actual squeal of delight escaping you as you come again, your inner walls clamping tight on my fingers, arousal gushing from you like a geyser, threatening to drown me in it’s wake.

You fall still after what feels like an age, your thighs falling open, the sounds of your harsh breathing filling my ears. Your fingers loose their tension and I slide gently out off your hold, pressing wet kisses to the inside your thighs. I lift my head up, returning your lazy smile with one of my own. You reach for me, fingers cupping my cheeks as I hold myself above your body. You kiss me, tasting yourself and moaning gently at the flavor of our kiss.

You tug me downwards, urging me to rest my naked form on top of yours and because it’s you asking for these things I give in. You are solid and warm in my arms and I hold you as you quake. It’s in this moment though that I realize just how much trouble I’m in, just how far down the rabbit hole I’ve fallen. We fall silent, your breathing deepening as post coital bliss pulls you into slumber.

You murmur my name as you roll over, letting me spoon you against me, our sweat cooling bodies still hot against the other. It feels right to have you here, but this is as far as it can go. You’ve bewitched me Laura Hollis, but I can’t go there, not again. It hurts too much to let someone in, and it’s for these stupid, selfish reasons that I’m going to have to let you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed.
> 
>    
> [badaax.tumblr.com](http://badaax.tumblr.com)


	10. Have We Lost Our Way Back Home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers and welcome back to 'Silence Looks Good On You', the wait between updates was longer than I would have liked and I do apologise for that. 
> 
> Anyway let's get back to the show! 
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

Ugh. You’re really, really nervous. Like think butterflies trying to battle even bigger butterflies inside of your belly nervous. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, but almost welcome, you never thought that you’d be in a situation like this again and you’re excited that you’re at a point in your life that you can almost be normal again.

The last few weeks have been nothing short of a miracle. Ever since that day Carmilla actually submitted to _you_ of all people, you’ve felt your confidence soar and your demons abate. They’re still there, gnawing away at the base of your skull, but you realized that giving them a voice only makes them worse. So you silence them with every ounce of bravery you have, the kind of courage that comes in the form of Carmilla’s soft touch and the smell of her skin when you’re pressed together.

She’s been a little distant since that day, you put it down to her maybe being a little embarrassed. She’s the master, the one in control and she gave that all up for you. You could never thank her enough for that. Never voice how grateful you are. She’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to you and if all goes well today, then hopefully she’ll know just how deep your feelings actually lie.

She hasn’t missed a single coffee date over the last few weeks, but she has been even more retrospective than usual. Yet in some weird way that works for you both, a long time ago, in a different life her silences would have driven you mad. But now you are happy to fill the gaps with the unspoken things, just knowing she is there is enough, just knowing she cares is enough.

But it’s just how much she cares that you really want to discover. The sessions have changed too, yes there is still the element of master and sub, but they’re more intense than ever before. It’s like all the emotions that you’d buried in the past have been dug up by the enigmatic wonder that is Carmilla Karnstein. But you’re reaching a point that you’re willing to give voice and words to these feelings burgeoning inside of you. It’s terrifying and so unexpected but you’re ready to bare your heart. It's the look in her eyes when you’re falling in each others arms that gives you hope that you’re not alone in these feelings.

It’s also a turning point in another way for you as well, after today everything is going to change. For better or worse. It doesn't matter because you’re all in, 100% committed and loyalty has never been a problem of yours, it sits right up there with your conviction that even when you’re not sure of the morality of the choices you make, they are yours whether they are right or wrong. You hate change, but it can be good, growth and development and the beginning of new things. That’s how you’re hoping today goes.

You walk into Room 307 with a spring in your step, you feel the weight of these changes already and despite how much it terrifies you, it’s a good thing, you can’t be afraid to see the world again. You can’t be frightened to fight for it. Carmilla has taught you that picking your battles and running away from them are two very different things.

Elsie is gone for the day as she normally is on your Friday evening sessions. So you make your own way to that wooden door that once filled you with equal parts fear and arousal. Now it’s just all wonder, with you wondering how you ever lived without the mysterious scholar that lives behind its frame.

You knock briskly, no hesitation, smiling faintly at the soft purr of _Enter_ that resonates through the wood. You step inside, fingers hooking in your belt loops, your breath catching in your throat. Carmilla waits, like she always does, dark eyes watching your every movement and you swear that you’ve never seen anything as beautiful. You think this every time you see her and you wonder will it ever stop being true.

“Good evening, Miss Hollis,” Carmilla, _no_ , your Master says, elegantly crossing her legs at the ankle, her robe sliding open to reveal smooth ivory skin and the most scandalous violet lingerie. She looks so damn good, and the way she’s looking at you with such fierce intensity, well, you wonder if it’s possible to orgasm from just a single look alone.

“Hi Master,” You say, attempting to be coy but knowing you come across as shy instead. Your fingers fumble over the buttons of your shirt, red flannel hitting the floor with a soft thump. You’re anxious to be naked, the sooner you are the sooner she can touch you and more importantly the sooner you can touch her. You’re hot, flushed, and feverish and she’s just _looking_ at you. You tell yourself that it’s not normal to be this stimulated by another person. But she does things to you. The past few months have taught you more about yourself than the previous years of your life put together and that has meant more to you than the control Carmilla gave you back.

You remove your t-shirt and sports bra in the same fluid motion, hair getting caught in your mouth before you quickly bind it up. Carmilla has stated her preferences for your hair before, you would hate to disappoint her now. You shiver as the cold air rushes over your warm skin, your nipples prickling and hardening, but it has nothing to do with the temperature and all to do with your desire.

Your fingers reach for your belt buckle, the same moment another hand joins yours. Carmilla appears in front of you like some wonderful apparition, her warm fingers entwining with yours, urging you to slow down a little. Your breath catches in your throat again, and it’s a wonder you haven’t asphyxiated by this point, but Carmilla just has a way of denying you oxygen. Her free hand fists in the your hair, curling strands of it around her wrist. She tugs your face closer to hers, lips finding yours in the most brutal and demanding kiss she’s asked of you yet.

It feels like desperation. It’s intoxicating and hot and so, so addictive and you’ve never felt so complete in your life. The hand she’s entwined with yours tugs at your belt, releasing the buckle and moving to your zip in very quick, precise movements. Cold air hits your thighs and a second later you’re stepping out of your jeans, Converse flying as you pry them off. 

You moan against Carmilla’s lips, her tongue stroking yours, exploring every inch of your mouth. She nips lightly on your bottom lip, sucks it between hers and releases it with a soft pop. Her hands cup your breasts, and she presses your lower bodies together, her lingerie flush against your absolutely sodden boy shorts.

“Mmm, seems like you’re very, very wet for me cupcake,” Carmilla smirks, one nail polish tipped finger pressing your damp underwear between your labia, your clit almost throbbing with need. She presents her now glistening finger to you, and you immediately wrap your lips around it, sucking the moisture into your mouth, sighing at the taste of your own arousal, wishing it was hers you were tasting.

“Come, Miss Hollis, we’ve got a full evening ahead,” she whispers against your swollen lips, pressing a soft, swift kiss, that you almost want to call chaste, to the corner of your mouth. Her fingers interlace with yours and she leads you like a little trembling lamb into her lair. The sight of the familiar bed is comforting and incredibly arousing. She makes you stop at the edge of the bed and turns you to face her.

“What would you like to do today, Miss Hollis?” she asks and this is the part of your routine that took the most time getting used to. You’re not very good at communicating what you want from her, or what you need. But you’re trying. She urged you when you first started being more open to keep it simple, and simple is all you think you can manage right now. _I would like to spend today loving you and being loved by you_ is probably a little too complicated. For both of you.

“I-I want to undress you,” You tell her a little unsurely, suddenly wishing that you weren’t the one having to answer the questions. Carmilla arches a delicate eyebrow at you and takes a step back, gesturing down her body in open invitation. You don’t hesitate to take it.

Your hands shake in unbridled reverence as you slide the silk robe from her shoulders, she lets it pool on the floor by her feet, her fingers caressing your neck and arms, stealing what focus you have. You have to bite your lip when her nails graze over your breasts, tracing dusky areola with smooth fingertips.

You unclasp her bra, sliding the straps down her arms, eyes fixing on the sight of perfect breasts and long, swollen nipples. She curls her fingers around the back of your neck, guiding your head downwards towards her chest. Your lips latch onto the closest nipple as soon as it makes contact, you suck at it, pulling blood to the surface and loving the way Carmilla’s breath catches in her throat and her fingers tighten their grip on you.

When she lets you pull back, her eyes watch you with a fierce intensity and you swear it’s one of the most erotic and incredible things you’ve ever seen. It gives you the courage, to slowly lower yourself down her body, trailing kisses as you go. You lavish her with your tongue and lips, her stomach flexing beneath your hot breath.

Your fingers slide beneath the waistband of her panties, and you lower them, just as achingly slowly as you had lowered yourself. Your eyes stay fixed on hers the entire time, and the smell of her aroused sex and vanilla tinted perfume makes you want to weep with excitement.

“May I, Master?” you ask breathing her in, mouth pressing against her pubic mound. Her fingers stroke your hair, and it’s such a reassuring and intimate gesture that you have to force yourself to look away from her face for fear that she’ll see just how you really feel. _It isn’t time for that._

“You may, cutie,” she breathes and it’s all you need. You quickly lower her underwear to the floor then a second later you’re diving forward, tongue nestling it’s way between her labia. Her sweet arousal coats your lips and slips down into your throat. You moan against her, whimpering your approval and licking her with as much enthusiasm as you can muster in your highly charged body.

You hear her groan, her hand directing you to the places she needs you to touch the most. She lets you work on her center first, you stiffen your tongue and plunge it in and out of her in swift, efficient motions. Then you slow down, worshiping her slit from bottom to top, before wrapping your lips around her clitoris and sucking on it. Her thighs tremble either side of your ears and a second later she’s gasping your name _Laura, fuck Laura yes!_ as she comes.

You lean back on your heels, chest heaving with your own need, face flushed with success. You love nothing more than pleasing your master, and her half lidded eyes and sly smile make her look very pleased indeed.

“You’re such a good girl,” she sighs, running her thumb along your jaw. “I’m going to reward you now. Get up on the bed on all fours,” she tells you and you almost fall over in your haste to obey.

You climb onto the bed, the silk sheets smooth beneath your sore knees, aching from resting on them while you pleasured your master. But you take any pain she gives you because it’s from her. You hold yourself on shaky arms, head twisting to look over your shoulder, heart pounding at the predatory sight of Carmilla slowly prowling her way towards you.

She tells you to face the headboard and you do so without question. Her fingers smooth over your ass, and lower back, moving higher to caress your shoulder blades and neck. She moves her hands back down to your now saturated shorts, sliding them down your thighs with well-practiced movements. She leaves them hooked around your knees, restricting how far you can spread your legs.

“Mmm, such a good girl, you look so delectable presented to me like this. Do you know that cupcake?” she asks, but you can’t answer, you’re too busy paying attention to the two fingers she has teasing your slippery labia. She tugs on them lightly, before spreading them apart, another finger dipping into you, circling your clit.

You’re so lost in the haze of emotions that she provokes in you that you don’t register that she’s smacked your ass with a short slap until the pain blossoms across your inflamed skin. You moan at the sensation, and the resultant rush of moisture that it causes. She knows just how to push your buttons and tonight she’s pushing everything.

She hits you again, just as forceful, but it’s not meant to hurt you, it’s simply to assert her dominance and to show that she is so very in command right now. The short, momentary sting of pain is nothing compared to the arousal it creates in you. You can feel your climax approaching like a storm and you know it’s going to be so violent when it breaks.

Carmilla positions herself behind you, pressing her groin against reddened ass cheeks, her fingers once more finding your dripping center. She presses two once more against you and then drives them home, thrusting forward with her hips at the same time. She repeats this, forming a steady rhythm fucking you with her fingers, her pubic mound pressing into your bottom.

She moves to straddle the back of your thigh, her slick wet heat painting a stripe over your skin. She grinds her clit against you hard and her fingers pick up their pace. She leans forward, resting engorged nipples against the sweating planes of your back and her empty hand reaches around you to fondle your breasts.

When she adds a third finger you can’t stop the cry of pure bliss. Every time with her is like this. Every time is such a rush and you want it, forever and ever. You know you’ll never get better than this.

She kisses your neck, bites on it marking you in a way that you’ve grown so familiar with and welcome with every ounce of your stimulated being. She breathes hotly against you and you know she’s as close to climax as you because her thrusting is now sloppy and frantic.

“Come for me Laura, come now!” She pants her command into your ear and for a long floundering second you are stuck in limbo, a wave of pleasure surging through you and leaving you teetering on the edge. A moment later and the wave breaks, you crest over the top if what is quickly becoming a monumental orgasm. You hear Carmilla stutter behind you, her hips crashing desperately against your thigh as she comes with you. Her fingers drop lower to your clit and she rubs at it, throwing you into another wave just as the first recedes and you thank the universe for multiple orgasms.

You collapse a few hazy moments later, Carmilla’s weight draped across your back as she follows you down. You both breathe in tandem, your skin slick against each other’s, her breasts pressing into your back.

Carmilla, shifts when she gets her breathing under control, moving to lie next to you, her arm immediately draping cross your waist. She spoons you against her, her lips pressing kisses against the back of your neck and you’ve never felt as close to another human in all of your life before. This is more than just therapy, more than just sex, it’s about the connection, and that’s the thing that spurs you on.

You both doze off, a post coital nap a time-honored tradition by this point. You wake about thirty minutes later to find Carmilla resting on her elbow watching you with unreadable eyes, her hand stroking over the shrapnel scars on your leg.

“You want to talk to me about something don’t you?” She asks in a soft voice and you don’t know how she does it, how she always reads you so well. You roll over onto your back, your fingers tracing the length of that Grecian worthy jawline you adore so much and all feels right in the world.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about some things and I want to share them with you,” You tell her in the same quiet tone she adopted. She sighs, it’s a little weary and the look in her eyes is just as defeated, you hope to make that go away.

“Well, I’d say I’m all ears, but you and I both no that’s not true,” She says with a salacious smirk that makes you blush. Trust Carmilla to lighten the tone with an innuendo. But it works, she eases some of the nervous tension that had unwittingly crept into your shoulders. You wonder should you suggest putting on clothes before having what you imagine will be two very serious conversations. But her skin is warm against yours and grounds you in ways that you never knew possible, so you settle for using the sheets to cover you instead.

“So, I’ve been thinking. It’s been a while now since my last serious flash and I’m feeling more and more confident and comfortable everyday. I know that I’m by no means better, but I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’ll probably never be fully over it. That being said, you’ve given me so much confidence back, so much control and I can’t thank you enough for that,” You pause here, smiling at the beautiful goddess in the bed beside you, your palm resting against her cheek. She turns her face without breaking eye contact with you, pressing a kiss into the center of your hand and you swear you melt right there.

“It’s been all you cupcake. You’ve worked so hard, I’m really proud of you,” she tells you and her simple words bring tears to your eyes and her praise means everything to you.

“Thanks,” you whisper, steadying yourself with a breath before plunging on. “That being said, I think it’s time for me to try going back to a traditional therapist. I love the time we spend together, but I know that if I want to really move forward I have to stop using you as a crutch. I hope you understand,” you say, wishing you could read her mind right now.

“I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t disappointed to stop this, Laura, but this is a big step, and I know you’re ready. You don’t need this anymore. But for the sake of full disclosure, I’m not sure I can be an impartial therapist for you anymore. Not now that I know you intimately,” she sighs, finally averting her eyes from your face. You know that must have been hard for her to admit.

“I know. I’m not asking for that, I was hoping you could recommend someone else to me,” you ask and she nods, a wistful smile on her lips.

“Off course darling, anything for you.” And you know that she means every single word she just said. The weight of that is heady and you welcome the hope it brings. The next thing you have to say is the real root of your anxiety.

***

“Off course darling, anything for you,” I mean every word, but at the same time every word feels like a knife in my heart. I should have cut ties with you months ago, I should have let you walk away, made you walk away. But I didn’t. Now I’m in so deep, I can’t see the surface of the water anymore.

I’m so proud of you, I meant those words as well, and I am so glad that you are in a place now that you can think about going back to some sense of normalcy. But I don’t want to think about never seeing you again, and that worries me. But what worries me more is this strange premonition that I have that you’re about to say something that’s going to ruin it all. It’s not you that will make it crumble. It’s me.

I know things have changed these past few weeks. I tried to pull back, I really did, but you’re like a fire and I’m drawn to you. I’ve been kidding myself that I don’t need it, I don’t need you. But I’m lying to myself and I haven’t done that in years. I became a therapist to fight my own demons, and for so long I had, but now they’re back and I don’t want to fight them again.

I look at you now, naked and still flushed from the combination of lust and mutual respect that has taken the place of a clinical workout. You are so lovely. So pure despite the horrors you’ve seen and I want, with the fiercest of aches, to protect you and to preserve you. But it is those thoughts that terrify me the most. I walked that road once before and it was lonely and horrible and I will not walk it again. Not for anyone, cupcake, not even you.

“Over the past few months I’ve really gotten to know you, I’ve enjoyed becoming your friend and I hope you know how much everything that you’ve done for me means to me. Carm, I really like you, like _really_ like. Now that you’re not my therapist anymore I was hoping we could maybe see more of each other,” you start speaking words and it takes me several moments to register that everything is about to come falling down around us. There is hope in your eyes and I hate that I’m going to be the one to break your heart now. But I am a coward, painted to look like I’m anything but.

You pause, smiling at me with an innocent smile and your naivety scares me. Was I ever that truly trusting and hopeful? No, I don’t think I was. Then after everything that went wrong, it just solidified the things I already knew. _Please don’t do this Laura, don’t go there_ , I silently beg you. But then you continue to speak and the words leaving you shatter everything.

“I want to ask you out on a date Carmilla. I want to explore whatever this is that we have between us.”

I can’t help but freeze, ice running through my veins as a memory of someone else asking practically the exact same words so long ago comes floating through my mind. I’d taken a chance then, I’d gone on the fucking dates, I’d fallen so hard and fast that I couldn’t remember why I was ever skeptical in the first place. But then life happened and the ugly reminders of why I’d guarded my heart in the first place came back to bite me in the ass.

No. I will not go there again. Not now. Not with you. You deserve better and much more than what I am prepared to give you. I should have let you go and I didn’t and now we’re both going to hurt. But at least I can spare you the pain of finding out the hard way just how broken I can be.

I will be the one to end this. I have to. For you Laura. _Coward,_ I tell myself, _you know it’s just for you._

I drag myself out of your arms, missing your warmth the second we’re apart but knowing that this is right. This is the only way it can be. I hurry from the room, sickness rolling through my stomach at the thought of what this will cost us both. This is a punishment that I should never have bestowed on you but I’m not sorry that I have. You’ll have to learn the hard way that I can’t be what you want.

I put on my discarded robe, taking the advantage away from you, leaving you to be the vulnerable one. It’s a cheat but it helps steady the nerves pouring through me.

“No, no I don’t think so,” I tell you, voice rasping and breaking showing a weakness that bothers me more than it should. I have to walk away. I need to, because the way your eyes dull and the spark of hope flickering out makes me sick to my stomach. I storm from the room angry for letting myself be put in this situation again. Angry at you for making me hurt you.

I take a moment to collect myself, and to collect your clothes. I need you out of here, because the longer this goes on the more you’ll hurt and at the end of the day, I’m your therapist and this is an emotional stress that you don’t need.

I practically throw your clothes at you, standing stone faced, arms across my chest waiting for you to put them on. You look so hesitant, so afraid and unsure that it drives me to be brutal, anything to see the fire come back into your eyes.

“Get changed now and leave. I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just ask me that,” I hear myself snapping words at you. You don’t deserve this, but I have no other way of protecting us both.

I watch as you climb shakily from the bed, your scar littered skin and beautiful body the only thing I can see. I try to drink you in, knowing that it’ll be the last time. It’s better this way, _trust me_. You slide on your jeans, leaving your underwear on the floor, your t-shirt covering your naked breasts.

“What’s wrong Carm? What’s going on? You can’t deny that we have something, it’s not a conflict of interest anymore, is it a bad thing that I want to date you?” you ask, and you’re the one lacing your words with anger now. It’s embarrassment, I know that, because your cheeks flush a horrible pink and my rejection hurts you. I know you well enough now to know how this will affect you. But I should have set things straight so long ago, but you span me around and now we’re both aching.

“You’re a client, cupcake. A paycheck. I’m very, very good at my job. I’m as good a therapist as I am a master, that’s the only connection we’ve ever had,” I say and despite how strong I try to make them, the words still come out hollow.

“You don’t believe that, I know you don’t. Come on, Carmilla, don’t lie to me, we have a connection outside of this room as well,” you fire back, and I both hate and love that the therapy has given you some of your fire back. You’re right in everyway that counts and I hate that the most.

“You’re right, but I see now that I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn't have seen you socially. It was a mistake,” I knew it was a line I crossed with you, but how could I help myself? I look at you now, your beautiful eyes wide with hurt and the fear that everything you wanted is falling apart. Then you’re touching me, your trembling fingers curling around mine and it takes me far to long to realize that it’s not you who is shaking, it’s me.

“This isn’t a marriage proposal, Carm. This is just me asking another woman out on a date. You know I think you’re amazing, and I want to get to know you better.” It all sounds so reasonable. But I’ve heard it once before and I swore that I’d never do it again. I’ve lived my life and staked everything I am on that conviction, I can’t change it now. I pull my hand back, practically growling at just how frustrating you can be.

“Did you ever think that I don’t want you to know me better? I put up walls for a reason cupcake, and you might think you’re special, that we have this “connection” but trust me you’re not. You were just a paying client who happened to be a good fuck. I have no interest in dating you, not now, not ever. I don’t date. Period.” These are the words I should have said all those years ago to _her_. But I didn’t and it almost cost me everything. If this is the price I have to pay for my sanity then you will be the one to suffer, because the alternative is to acknowledge that I’ve fallen in love with you, and that’s just not an option.

You step back from me, and despite every urge I have I don’t attempt to close the distance. Love is for fools, I should never have forgotten that. Now I just need you to go.

***

You take a shaky step back, the ache in your chest where your heart used to live is a visceral thing. You know Carmilla has demons, she’s alluded to them in the past and you’ve never questioned that. You just hoped that one day she’d tell you herself. But apparently her demons have hardened her and now you’re not sure you ever really knew her at all. You decide to go for broke, because you can’t not fight for this.

“Carm, just think about it. I know it’s hard to let people in, you know how much I’ve struggled with that, but please let me in. I didn’t mean for this to happen, for me to feel this way about you. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but I did, and now you’re asking me to walk away and I just don’t think I can do that,” you beg her, ignoring the treacherous burn of tears behind your eyes as Carmilla’s beautiful face hardens itself further. You know in that moment you’ve lost her completely and it’s going to break your heart.

“You’re a child Laura. I warned you this would happen and you promised me it wouldn't. I don’t want to date you, I want you to walk out that door and never come back. I don’t care that you love me or that you want to get to know me better, that kind of thinking is for sentimental fools. I don’t do relationships cutie, sorry you’re finding that out the hard way,” Carmilla all but sneers at you and every single word is like a knife twisting further into your gut.

“I’ll have Elsie email you a list of recommendations and your final receipt. Other than that I don't think we have anything left to discuss. You can see yourself out now,” she orders in that commanding voice that you’d still do anything for. You fight the urge to throw yourself at her and beg her not to do this. You fight the urge not to just break down and cry. You fight and it’s horrible. Her dark eyes are cold, and they can’t look at you and you want so badly to just crawl back into that bed and be held by her.

But she’s right.

How could you ever expect her to want the same things that you wanted? You fell in love with the unattainable and in all your naivety you thought that it could love you back. You don’t bother grabbing the rest of your scattered clothing. You limp past her with your shoulders bowed and your messy hair hiding your face and your broken heart.

You shove your feet into discarded shoes and your hand pauses on the outer door. Carmilla watches you from the bedroom doorway, her arms still folded and her face still a mask. She bites her lip and for a moment you wonder if it is to stop her from calling out to you. But she doesn't say a word, she just lets you go.

You walk away, down the hallway of Room 307 and out into a glorious Friday evening. The weather a complete mockery of how you’re feeling inside. You climb into your car and switch on your engine, and it is the sound of your playlist kicking into life on the radio that finally breaks the spell of numbness that had descended on you.

Your sob hurts, it wracks your body with an ache so fierce you think it hurt less being blown up and shot. You feel a grief so strongly that it makes the sorrow you felt after Betty’s death look tame. It takes you several minutes to remember how to breathe again, hiccups leaving your throat as you painfully suck in air. When you finally feel composed enough to drive, you take one final glance up at the window of the room you’ll never be in again. For just one moment you kid yourself that you see Carmilla watching you from the window, but when you look back there’s no one there and that makes you ache all over again.

You drive away, your heart remaining behind with Carmilla, and it’s the hardest thing you know you’ll ever do. But what’s the point of fighting? The battle was over before it even begun and who can fight against that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [badaax.tumblr.com](http://badaax.tumblr.com)


	11. All I Need to Make it Real, is One More Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho, ho, ho and merry- nope I missed my Christmas upload because I was too busy stuffing my face with turkey and anything else I could get my hands on. Hope ya'll had a great time whether you celebrate Christmas or not. 
> 
> We have come to the penultimate chapter in this story *the audience all 'aww' in response* and I just want to take this moment to thank you all for coming along for the journey. The overwhelming response I've had from you guys for this story has been incredible and I can't wait to share these final two chapters with you. 
> 
> To recap the last chapter for anyone who may have forgotten: "The relationship between our two brooding lovers has come to a rather fractious end. Laura put her heart on the line to ask Carmilla out, but Carm's demons are holding her back, will they reconcile in time to save the world? Or are they doomed to remain apart? Who knows? Read on to find out what happens next..."
> 
> This story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

_Her lips trail kisses along your spine, each one feels like fire, each one hotter than the last, each one a precursor to something more, something infinitely more intense. She kneels behind you, grips your hips and pulls you towards her, the backs of your thighs resting on the tops of hers, her hard nipples grazing your shoulder blades as she pulls you flush against her._

_She kisses your neck, nipping at your skin, your breaths leaving you in short, sharp gasps. Her hands are everywhere, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes, fingers playing with your breasts, tugging, tweaking, teasing you until you think you’re going to go insane. Her hand presses flat against your abdomen, pushing your harder against her, fingers moving lower, circling your throbbing clit and your dripping center. She trails red polish tipped nails across your thighs and hips, gripping hard, marking you, firing every single nerve you’ve got left. Her flawless skin rests atop the scars on your leg, the imagery a weight all of it’s own._

_“So beautiful Miss Hollis, so beautiful and in this moment, all mine,” She whispers into your ear, teeth grazing your ear lobe, her heated flesh searing your trembling skin. Her possession of you makes you wet, wetter than ever before and you welcome the rush of desire and the heat it brings. She is a fire and you’re firmly caught in her flames._

_She moves away from you, leads you to lie on your back, the silk sheets smooth against your slick flesh. She tells you to put your hands above your head and grip the headboard. Your fingers curl around the wood before she has even finished her command. She smiles at you, that dangerous smirk that plays on blood red lips and you are breathless, all the air has fled your lungs as you watch her. You wonder if she knows the full extent of what she does to you. The salacious glint in her eyes tells you that she knows all too well._

_She kneels at your side, hands mapping the plains of your body, her breath hot on your skin as she places wet kisses on the places she touches. She spreads your legs with a strong grip, gracing you with another glittering smirk before she lowers her head and you’re crying out at the first lap of her tongue on your aching clit. She circles your hot flesh, teeth scraping against your tortured nerves and every breath you take is accompanied by a whimper of agonized delight. The sight of her tousled black hair, moving and dipping between your thighs is a powerful aphrodisiac in it’s own right and it’s hard to not want to lose control._

_She pulls back, her chin glistening with the evidence of your overflowing desire, her eyes are so dark, so haunted, so filled with want for you. It’s intoxicating and powerful and despite her domination you are the one in control and it’s this power that you’ve been craving, it’s what you’ve needed to get yourself back together. She removes her hands from your thighs, fingers wrapping around a red hide bound handle. She slides the leather tassels of the flogger over your inflamed skin, her touch firm but light. She means to excite you, not to hurt you and it’s working._

_“You’re such a good girl, so wet, so hot for me,” She purrs, her voice low and seductive in your ears and you want to touch her so badly but she hasn't given you permission to let go of the headboard. “I’m going to make you scream for me baby, you have no idea how badly I want to hear you let go.”_

_She raises the flogger, her jaw clenches tight and you have barely a second to prepare for the first hit against your breasts. She hits you with startling accuracy, leather creaking, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the air between you. She is relentless, merciless, the thongs a blur as they swish towards you, smacking your skin. You grip the headboard hard, legs twisting, stomach pulling taut as you languish in her devotion. She doesn't hit you hard, it’s only a mild sting but it makes you cry out every time._

_She pulls your right leg up in the air towards her, then pushes it away from you both, spreading you even wider. The flogging moves lower, her attentions fixed firmly on your swollen labia, and your pulsating clitoris. You bite your lip to stop the almost animalistic grunts trying to escape your mouth. You throw your head back, lower body gyrating and pumping to the beat of Carmilla’s drumming. It’s a wonderful kind of pain and you watch her, always watching, watching the way her eyes drink you in, watching the way she caresses your skin like you mean something and watching the way her cheeks flush from exertion and her sweaty bangs cling to her forehead._

_She drops the flogger onto your heaving stomach, her head lowered between your legs again, her tongue feasting on your aching center once more. It’s even more exquisite this time, even more torturous. You’re on the edge but nowhere near to climaxing yet. It’s just too much, too intense, too much indulgence but you’re drowning in her and for the first time in your life you wonder if that wouldn't be such a bad thing?_

_She eats you out like a starving woman, drinking you down like you’re the oasis in her desert, but this is no mirage, she really is devouring you whole. You gasp and sigh and writhe your hips, attempting to guide her closer to the spots you need her to hit, need her to satisfy. She pulls back again, the flogger once more cracking at your skin, hitting the delicate flesh on the insides of your thighs, painting a pattern of faint pink over your stomach and breasts, before teasing your clit again._

_She repeats this process over and over and over again and you’re losing your mind, being buried in the presence and sheer intensity that is Carmilla Karnstein, your master of all things. When she finally sets aside the flogger and pushes two fingers inside of you, filling you to the brim you know without a doubt just how deep your feelings for her lie._

_She kisses your neck again, before capturing your mouth in a hungry and somewhat violent demand. She straddles your scarred thigh, you tremble at the sensation of her wet, amorous core soaking the scars on your leg as she rides you, grinding harder and harder. Her shaking frame hovers over you and you forget to hold your arms above your head. Instead you wrap them around her, holding her as close as you dare before she realizes, glad she’s lost in her own pleasure for a moment because the sensation of holding her as she loses herself is not something you ever want to give up. She tells you to come, gasps it along with your name and it’s in her eyes you find yourself as you finally pivot over the edge, coming hard and fast with a rush of moisture and a cry of completion._

_She holds you in the aftermath, cradles you close and whispers that she cares, that she’s there. As you drift of into sated sleep, her lips press against your forehead and you can pretend for a moment that it’s real, that she’s yours. But when you wake the dream will be over and once again she’ll walk you out of her life._

***

LaF is the one who finds you two days later. You’re wearing your most disgusting pair of sweats, curled in your baggiest hoodie and surrounded by the fattiest of foods. They let themselves into your apartment, calling your name, making a stupid joke about you becoming a hermit, before they fall silent when they find you lying crumpled in your bed.

They say nothing. They simply remove their boots, throw their jacket over the back of your desk chair and loosen their tie. Then they’re climbing into bed beside you, pulling you into the safety of their arms. No words need to pass between you because they know just how you’re feeling. They’ve seen you like this before, when you had a crush on your straight best friend in high school and she broke your heart by going out with the jerk face captain of the boys swim team.

But this is an all new kind of heartache, more painful than the injuries of war or the scars it left behind, more painful than losing Betty and your mom and the other soldiers who died while you remained behind to tell the tale. This is more painful because you chose Carmilla. You chose to fall for her, to let yourself become so immersed in her that you couldn’t see straight without her. You made that choice to open your heart and invite something new in and like a naïve child you expected her to want the same.

You’re equal parts heartbroken and ashamed.

So no, LaF doesn't need to speak, doesn't need to fill the void with empty promises or comforting words. They simply let you pine in piece. They simply let you fill your heart and soul with memories of Carmilla’s lips against yours and her hands tearing you asunder.

***

I’m a goddamn idiot.

So foolish. So stupid. So utterly miserable.

I let you walk away and I tried to tell myself that it was what I wanted but how can it be when it makes me this despondent? You were all the things I needed that I never knew about it. You, in all your wonderful strangeness and never-ending beauty, you were so different than anything I had known and I just let you go.

Damn idiot.

You should be here tonight, but you’re not. This was our normal evening session, and just like every week I let Elsie go and waited for you in the room. A small foolish part of me hoped that you would come despite my rejection. But I berated that part for its dreams. I broke you, us, me, _everything_. I should have known better.

Now here I lie, wallowing in my own self-pity, too heart sick to sleep, to forlorn to care. I thought I knew something of heartbreak; I’d been there, done that and worn the awful t-shirt. But this is different. This is different because I chose to push you away, I chose to welcome you into my life, to fall into your trap and then to push you to the ground and trample over you when I got scared. You deserved better and you’ll never get that with me. I should never have let it go this far.

I drove home from Room 307 on autopilot. I climbed the stairs to my apartment, let myself in and stripped out of my clothes on autopilot. I’d even worn lingerie thinking that I might get lucky, and you might come back, like it had just been some awful dream. But off course you didn't, I simply replaced the victoria secret catalogue with a pair of white panties and a tank top. I didn't bother with food, I’ve had no appetite, you must have taken it along with the last of my sanity.

I lie now in my own bed, one that I once shared with you despite the lines I’d set. I’d blurred those rules for you, broke them, crushed them, cast them aside. All for you. I miss you, Laura. I hate that I do, but I am powerless to help it. This is why love is for fools and children. I swore to myself that I was neither, but what the hell do I really know?

My fingers stretch sideways, curling around soft flannel; the button-up that you’d abandoned in your haste to escape last week has become my bed partner. My reminder of just how good it could have been and why it could never be real. I close my eyes, picturing your smiling face, the way your nose twitches when you’re trying not to laugh.

I think about the noises you make when I’m pleasuring you. The sound of my hand slapping against your skin, the gasps and the groans of you succumbing to the desire. I think about the way you arch your back, stretching out your neck before me like some lavish canapé. I want you. I always want you. I’ve never wanted anyone more.

I bite my lip at the same moment my free hand slides beneath the band of my panties. I’m not surprised to find the hot, wet, moisture that always seems to be infinitely hotter, infinitely more intense whenever I’m with you. I stifle a groan, spreading my labia apart with my fingers, dipping a third between my lips, feeling just how wet for you I really am.

I squeeze my eyes tight, pretending that it’s your fingers inside of me, it’s your nails teasing my clit. My other hand cups one of my breasts, erect nipples painful to the touch but enjoying the stimulus I apply. I pretend it’s you. I pretend I can feel your hot breath on my neck, your lips teasing, testing, touching me. I add a second finger to the whirlpool swirling below, I stretch myself, pushing harder, imagining that I can feel your weight pressing me into the bed and for once I’m giving up my control and it feels so good.

I pinch my nipples, before lowering that hand to assist the other, fingers immediately finding my clitoris. I turn my face sideways, burying my nose in your shirt, which still smells faintly of you. I pump harder, circling faster, building to something that I can pretend for one moment is with you. I come with a pained groan, your name the one that leaves my mouth, but it is a hollow victory. The orgasm falls flat, only a moment of temporary release that leaves me feeling drained but just as unsatisfied as I’ve felt since the moment you walked out of my life.

I slip my hands out of my underwear, surreptitiously wiping them on the sheets. I run a shaking hand through my damp hair, keeping my eyes firmly shut. I don’t want to open them and see that you’re not here. I don’t want to think about how badly I wish to hold you and fall asleep with you in my arms.

I roll over, wrapping my arms around your shirt instead, a pale substitute for your soft curves. I wonder if you’re thinking about me, hating myself for even wondering in the first place, because I don’t want you to. I want you to be happy and the thought that I’m the reason you’re not kills me. I wish I could make this real, this need to have you, but I can’t. I knew I had to let you go, I just didn’t realize what it would cost me to do so.

***

It’s the first night you’re not meeting Carm for a session. After LaF’s comfort, Perry, Danny and Kirsch had come over for an impromptu pizza and movies night. None of them complained when you put on the underappreciated but still timeless Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie. You’ve made them all watch it about a hundred times, but you needed the comfort, it felt like an old friend, and when you’re watching it, you could let your mind switch of.

You don’t think about her, _liar_ , you don’t think about the way her hands felt in your hair, or the way her lips felt against yours. In fact you don’t think about her at all for the next couple of days. At least, that’s what you tell yourself and your friends. They might believe your bullcrap, but you certainly don’t. She’s never far from your thoughts and it’s maddening.

The only bright spark in all of this is that you haven’t had a flashback, or a relapse. You’re still feeling strong, a bittersweet testament to the work and strength Carmilla has provided you with. You want to hate her, to curse her for rejecting you but you can’t. You don’t know the full story, but even if you did it wouldn't matter, she gave you back yourself and you could never despise her for that.

But now it’s the first night since you walked out of her life and you miss her with an ache so fierce it feels like someone’s cut a hole into your chest. In the place that once held your heart nothing remains but a black cavern, longing to be filled by her once again.

You close your eyes, picturing the way Carmilla looked dressed in fabulously expensive lingerie. Her dark eyes watching you with that familiar intensity that made you feel like you were the only woman in her world. You flop ungracefully onto your back, your bed a little too big, a little too empty tonight, but you have no desire to leave it. You’re miserable, caught up in thoughts of what you and Carm could be doing right at this moment if you hadn’t taken a chance.

You miss her with an ache so fierce it almost paralyzes you. So you settle for dreaming about her instead, pretending just for a moment that it’s real. You keep your eyes firmly shut. You picture Carmilla’s naked flesh, the way her firm breasts looked just before you sucked on them. You think about the heady smell of your love making, the oppressive heat in the air between you as you succumbed to her desires.

You press your hand between your legs, guiding your fingers between the hem of your boy shorts, feeling just how warm and wet you already are. The memory of Carmilla is enough to excite you and you can’t help but think about walking into that room, seeing her waiting for you on that couch, knowing in that moment you are all hers and she is all yours.

You slowly roll your fingers over your clit, wishing that it was Carmilla’s fingers instead or better yet her mouth. Hot tongue bathing your skin as she lathed at your arousal. You move your free hand to your breast, pinching your nipple hard, thinking about the times Carmilla used rubber bands or paper clips or clothes pegs to drive you wild.

She is so different so very unusual to your normal tastes. Yes she is beautiful, but she is also apathetic, almost cold and arrogant. But she is everything you never knew you needed. She is a level head to your dreaming. You had hoped for a future despite your differences, but she doesn't see you.

You forget your self-pity for a moment, instead focusing on the memory of Carmilla’s lips against yours, her hands in your hair. You stroke yourself harder and faster, pumping your hips in time with your fingers pretending that it is Carmilla who is the orchestrator of your fate.

You feel yourself drawing ever closer to your climax, and you whisper the words “Can I come Master?” to your empty room, pretending that Carmilla’s hot breath and urgent words of “Yes, come now” are actually sounding in your ears. You obey her, even when she’s not real, and you come with a shaking gasp and moan of grief.

You can pretend it’s real, but the reality is, that it’s not. You’ve never had such an empty orgasm in all your life and you never want to experience that again. It’s not the same without her, it can’t be.

You wonder if she’s thinking of you, if she misses you as much as you miss her. But then you remember that she has so many lovers waiting to take your place that you meant nothing more to her than an interesting therapy case. You try not to think about the women she’ll entertain in your absence. You don’t want to think about the way she’ll caress them so gently, with her steady touch and purposeful hands.

You see the woman, the lady in the fancy suit who had shattered your illusions all those weeks ago. She is the kind of woman who will thrill your former master. How could you compare to that? You curl yourself into a ball, wrapping your arms around yourself wishing it was Carmilla who was holding you now. You tremble a little in the wake of your orgasm, but it is a hollow victory. You wish you could make this real, but the silence is more than telling that it’s not.

***

Just over three weeks later and you’re starting to feel human again, or at least you’re starting to get better at pretending. You’ve been working on a few stories for the newspaper, you’ve been updating your blog and you’ve found yourself a good old regular therapist. JP Armitage was at the top of Carmilla’s list and despite your reservations at speaking to a man about how you’re feeling, you know you’ve made a wise choice.

JP is very understanding, and in the two sessions you’ve had, you feel comfortable discussing the war and the effects it’s had on you. You recognize the groundwork that Carmilla laid in you and you’re grateful for it.

You’ve also gotten better at not thinking about her. Even though it’s been difficult and hard and so, so painful, you can now think her name without feeling like your hearts being twisted in half. Sometimes.

But despite getting on with your life and attempting to move on without Carmilla there to guide you, you still miss her. You wish you’d had that chance to make it real. It probably explains then why every Sunday for the past three weeks you’ve gone to the coffee shop that you and Carmilla both used to meet at.

You bring your laptop, you sit at your usual table and you drink your hot chocolate. You tell yourself you’re just working, but you know it’s a lie. Every time the door opens your head shoots up, and every time a little bit of hope is just chipped away further. Your plan is that eventually no hope will remain and when that happens you’ll finally be able to move on completely.

You know it’s a bit ridiculous to feel this way about a woman you technically never dated and who you actually didn't know all that well. But in the months you spent together, you came to care for her, you came to want more and although it’s understandable you still wish you’d been stronger. But sometimes fate has other plans.

So you sit here, for a few hours every Sunday hoping that she’ll come bursting through that door or you’ll finally get over it. Neither of those things have happened yet, and you wonder if they ever will. You know Carmilla has moved on, she never felt the same way about you and in fact warned you about not falling several times. You were just too pigheaded to heed her warning, and now you’re paying the painful price.

You are just putting the last finishing touches to your story about the merits of yoga and physical therapy for injured veterans when another cup of hot chocolate is set gently in front of you. For a moment you look at it confused, knowing that you had definitely limited yourself to just the two today. You lift your head to tell the barista that you didn’t order the drink when your breath and the rest of your coherent thoughts are stolen from you.

Three weeks of pining and waiting and pining some more and only the child inside of you dared hope for this sight. You never thought for one moment she’d get her wish. The first thing you think is _wow_ the second is _she looks as awful as I feel_. You never thought you’d think that way about her but to your delighted surprise you have. She is only human after all.

“Hey cutie,” Her softly spoken greeting compliments her worn down appearance and sheepish expression nicely. Carmilla Karnstein shifts awkwardly in front of the table and her beanie covered hair and sweat pant clad legs are a testament to just how contrite she looks.

“What are you doing here?” You ask her cautiously, wondering if it’s just coincidence or if she is here just to seek you out. Your eyes meet, her dark ones bordered by black bags that you’ve never seen on her before. She looks exhausted, and despite your restraint, you worry for her.

“I, I came to see you,” She says quietly, fingers gripping each other tightly. You’ve never seen her look this defeated before, and in some ways it's mollifying. Carmilla looking like a pillar of strength would have enraged you, because that’s a sign of her moving on, of her not caring about you at all. But this Carmilla is broken and sad and despite you hating how she hurts, it vindicates the hope in your chest somehow.

She shifts nervously, watching you carefully waiting for a sign or something that you’re not going to scream at her to go away. You’re not even fully aware of your hand patting the empty space beside you before she’s sighing with relief and moving to sit in the indicated spot. You have to mentally pinch yourself that this is real and not a dream and that Carmilla really is here.

If seeing her standing in front of you was hard, sitting only a foot from her is a million times more difficult. Your heart skips a beat when you realize that the faded flannel shirt she’s wearing is the one you left behind just a few weeks ago. You don’t know what it all means, the part of you that is wary remembers the hurt and the pain and the continuing anguish she has caused you. The rest of you still wants her, the memory of her touch, her kiss, her soft words enough to at least make you willing to try.

“I’ve made a mess of things Laura, and I think it’s only fair that you know why,” She focuses on her hands as she says these things, her nail polish chipped and uneven, another sign that maybe all isn’t right in the world. “I’ve missed you so much and I know I hurt you and for that I’m sorry. I just couldn’t be what you needed.”

You want so badly to believe that. To believe that whatever demons that have held her back have let her go. To believe that she’s changed. But you remember how broken you felt, and you wonder if her apology is just a little too late. But then you wouldn’t have come here for weeks if you didn’t believe you still needed her and wanted her. So you’ll take that leap of faith.

“This whole thing is messed up and I wish I could say that you didn’t hurt me but you did. If you trust me enough to talk then I want to know why. Please Carm, tell me,” You say and for the first time in weeks you feel the stirrings of hope growing stronger. It is your strength now that Carmilla needs, not the other way around. Let her break the silence and go from there. If there is a chance to make it real, then you owe it to yourselves. Maybe silence doesn't have to be enough anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look a wild final chapter appears!!
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
>    
> [badaax.tumblr.com](http://badaax.tumblr.com)


	12. Silence Looks Good On You

“I met _her_ , Ell when I was a freshman, she is the one who changed everything, she is the reason I have demons in the first place. I was a philosophy major, so sure of myself I wanted to question the world instead,” Carmilla pauses her story for a moment, dark eyes a million miles away and you want so badly to reach out and soothe the crease between her eyebrows or the frown lines gathering on her brow. You want to but you don’t, she’s as fragile as glass but as sharp as nails and although she still draws you close like a moth to irresistible flame she’s not yours to touch.

So you clasp your hands on your knee instead, settling for just looking, because you fear it’s as close as you’ll ever get again. You asked her to pour out her heart, to bare the secrets of her soul; you just hope you have enough compassion left to show her you care. You do care. You care a lot. Her low, and almost expressionless voice draws you back in. This is her story, and she delivers it like she’s reading from a script. A long time ago this would have incensed you, this is exciting and drama and you would have pleaded with her to enliven it.

But war made you realize what a fool you had been, what a child you were even when you called yourself an adult. You were just playing dress up, life taught you that in the cruelest of ways and Carmilla is the one who brought you back from the brink. So. If this is how she deals with it, if this is how she has to compartmentalize her thoughts to tell a story you’re sure not many others know. Then this is how she has to do it. Who are you to judge that?

“I had always been an advocate of a more polyamorous lifestyle, it suited me as an experimental teenager and up until that moment I’d never been with anyone who didn’t agree. Ell was the instant exception to the rule. She thought I used my sexual exploits as a way to avoid getting close, with her help, she convinced me to give something more long lasting a try,” Carmilla stops again, eyes awash with the memories that time can’t erase or soften the pain of. She picks at the chipped nail polish of her fingers, uncomfortable in more ways than one.

“I loved her. I thought she loved me. I would have done anything for her and assumed that those sentiments were reciprocated. And for a time it worked, it worked well, _we_ worked well. We dated, fell in lust then in love and before I knew it we were living together and planning the rest of our lives out.”

Carmilla’s jaw clenches so tightly you swear you can hear the bones cracking, this time you can’t help yourself. You reach out, placing your warm palm over her cold fingers and you know you’ve made the right decision. She grips them back, hard, tethering her to you and to this place. Your relationship started on a basis of touch and you see no reason to change that now.

“Ell was a few years older than me, she’d already done the whole student thing but she supported me with my own studies. She was a sales rep for a large pharmaceutical company, which meant she spent a lot of time travelling out of state. She was sometimes gone for weeks at a time but rather than it destroying our relationship if anything it strengthened it. Whenever she came back we’d both be more attentive, more understanding, in this case absence really did make the heart grow fonder and throughout that whole time I didn’t think about being intimate with another woman once. For her I was determined to make our fully monogamous relationship work because why look elsewhere when I had every thing I could ever want or need at home.”

“We’d just celebrated our 2nd anniversary together when everything sort of fell apart. I was in the middle of finals at the time but I took the night off and treated us to a show and dinner. It wasn't often we got out together, her job was ever more demanding and I was busy with classes but it was nice going on a date. We were walking back to our apartment, using a shortcut that we must have taken a hundred times before, when we were approached by two men. They were armed with knives and ordered us to hand over all of our valuables.” Carmilla stops again, her throat working furiously as she struggles to finish the story. You think about telling her to stop, but the look in her eyes silences you. Carmilla isn’t here right now, she’s back there, back in that street with Ell and those men.

“We were both terrified, but rather than fight back I just handed over our phones and wallets hoping they’d just leave us alone. Those things were just material goods, replaceable, we were not, but suddenly Ell seemed to disagree. I didn’t see it coming, one minute she was standing beside me, the next she was throwing herself at one of the men shouting about how she just needed to get something out of her wallet, that they could have whatever they wanted, just “not that”. The guy though, he panicked, thought she was going to hurt him or something. It all happened so quickly, one minute Ell was beside me the next she was lying on the floor, blood pouring from her, the two men running.”

Her breaths come in short, sharp gasps, but you are helpless to do anything except have your heart break for her.

“A couple of people heard the commotion and came to help. They were the ones that phoned the ambulance, and the police. I was numb. I just sat holding Ell’s hand watching her bleed out. She died long before the ambulance ever arrived. The police found the two guys later, and I rode along with Ell to the hospital just so they could officially pronounce her dead. It must have been maybe a few hours later when the police came to take a statement when the floor was pulled from under me. They told me, not to worry, that Ell’s next of kin was on the way. I was confused because I had always just assumed that I was her next of kin but next thing I knew this frantic, teary eyed man shows up demanding to know what happened to Ell, what happened to his wife.” Carmilla practically spits the last word, her grief quickly being swallowed up by anger, an emotion you are all too familiar with, because it’s easier than grief.

“Turns out the Ell I thought I knew was a happily married woman, had been for 3 years before she met me. I was the other damn _woman_ and I never even knew. All those work assignments, trips away, I assumed it was just that. The thing she was so frantic to get out of her wallet was her wedding ring. She carried it on her and both her husband and I hadn’t a clue. I never told him about his wife, he was heartbroken, grief stricken and I was too numb to be cruel. Afterwards I returned to the apartment Ell and I shared and just fell apart. I didn’t eat, barely slept, didn’t leave our bed unless I had to go to the toilet. I kept seeing the attack over and over again, dreaming about all the things I could have done instead. Could I have saved her? Would I have wanted to if I knew she was cheating on me? It was a dark time. Not only was I struggling with grief that she was gone, that my lover was dead, but I was also struggling with the knowledge that I was glad she got what she deserved for making me love her and none of it being real.”

“My mother finally had enough. She sent me to as many therapists as she could, but I just couldn't talk about it. Finally I got desperate and went to an old family friend for help, she became my first mistress. Mattie literally whipped my ass back in to gear, but we both figured out pretty quickly that I didn’t need to be dominated, I needed to be the one in charge, I needed to be the Master. She introduced me to my first couple of subs and finally I started to get my life back on track. I quickly went back to my teenage adage of having multiple lovers, except these women weren’t dates, they were my submissives. I returned to college, switched to psychology and became a therapist. I set up Room 307, being a therapist by day, Master by night. I swore of monogamy and relationships and everything remained that way until a tiny little wounded veteran proudly limped into my life and now I can’t seem to get her out of my head,” She finishes her tale with that familiar roguish smile that makes her look devilish and handsome all in one gesture.

You both look down at your hands, fingers entwined together, thumbs smoothing over knuckles a poor attempt at soothing aches. Carmilla’s story doesn't surprise you, because you knew it had to be bad, you knew something awful and profound had made her panic at the mere thought of just going on one date with you. Neither of you say anything and you know it’s because she’s all talked out, but you can’t seem to find your voice and even if you did, what could you say? ‘Ell was a bitch who didn’t deserve what she had and I’m not sorry she’s not in your life anymore. I’m just sorry she hurt you so badly you never want to let anyone else in?’ _No_ , you can’t say that because the sad truth is, that's exactly what Carmilla already knows and she doesn't need you to confirm that.

“Thank you for telling me that,” You say rather stupidly, it’s inadequate but what else have you got? Carmilla watches you with those dark unreadable eyes before she sighs and separates her hands from your own grasping ones. Your fingers feel empty and cold without hers to hold.

“I’m sorry I said what I did when you asked me out. I was afraid. I just saw Ell all over again and I knew I’d messed up, I knew it wasn’t you who should have remained uninvolved but me. I fell for you, cupcake, I haven’t been with another woman but you in weeks. I found new masters for all of my submissives. It’s not that I felt like I was cheating on you, but it just wasn't fair for me to be with them when I wasn’t all there. My mind was always on you. For the first time since Ell I want a relationship, I want to emotionally connect with another human being and that scares the hell out of me. I have no problems being physically intimate but being emotionally intimate is not something I do. I’ve spent most of my adult life building walls and shutting myself off, but you knock those walls down without any effort. For the first time in years I want to love someone and not just be loved,” Carmilla won’t look at you as she speaks, she just focuses on the world around you but you know she’s not seeing anything. Her words make your heart pound and you feel every scar that she placed there when she rejected you be slowly soothed away by her candor. She’s never pulled any punches and boy is she hitting below the belt now.

“You know, I watched this show about the APA and therapists having relationships with patients and I was under the impression that you can’t be intimate with me for another two years after you stop treating me,” You say, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Carmilla’s head flicks round to look at you and for the first time since you’ve known her, she looks carefree and unburdened, like the dark truth she’d been carrying around has finally been dissolved.

“Well then it’s a good thing this isn’t America and I’m not a member of the APA then cutie isn’t it? Besides, technically therapists aren’t supposed to sleep with their patients as part of their therapy anyway. You pay me for a service, which makes me seem more like a high class escort than a therapist, so I doubt that intimacy rule applies to us,” Carmilla’s smirk is infectious and despite the lingering fear that you’re going to get hurt, you want to dive in and let this become something. You’re two people on parallel plains and for the first time your lives are finally converging together.

“I think it’s fair to say that I like you Carm and that if it’s what we both want I’m definitely going to ask you out on that date again. But I can’t be one of many, I won’t share you, I’m sorry if that makes what we both want clash but I can’t help it. I want a love like my parents had before my mom passed away. I want to be someone’s someone,” You almost whisper these words, scared that by saying it out loud you’ll pop the bliss bubble surrounding you both and that’ll be that. You don’t want to be another Ell, you don’t want Carmilla to give up who she is to have a life together, but you can’t be with someone who isn’t all yours. Her fingers curling once more around yours snap you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“You, Laura Hollis, are everything I could ever need. I would never expect you to agree with my lifestyle, that’s not who you are, and if I’m with you, I’ll be with you 110%. Besides it might be nice, being a one woman kinda gal again,” She says raising one beautiful eyebrow and you can’t help but laugh at the way this day is turning out. “Ask me the question again cupcake, ask me out again, I’m dying to know if my answer has changed.”

“I want to ask you out on a date Carmilla. I want to explore whatever this is that we have between us,” you say the words you spoke all those weeks ago and instead of fear and uncertainty and the blinding pain of rejection. Carmilla’s smile and her bright eyes are enough to make you believe again. She breathes her answer against your lips and that is enough for now.

***

Dating Carmilla is even more amazing than you had dreamed. She’s attentive, thoughtful and surprisingly romantic. For your first date she takes you to the local observatory, you stare at the stars and share some homemade sandwiches. It’s simple and sweet and in so many ways so very Carmilla. Her Master persona is just that, a front, a façade to hide behind, but you have seen the real her, she’s taken you to her home and banished your demons. She’s spent silent hours at your side while you struggle to finish your assignments and kept you well supplied with hot chocolate and cookies. She’s walked around a sock puppet festival for you, even though it was childish and sentimental and you could see the derision on her face. She still did it.

You watch her, you’ve always been watching her, but even she is surprised by just how much you accept her real self, the self that you wanted to date in the first place. It wasn’t Master Karnstein, your therapist you asked out, it was just Carmilla, the haunted woman who drew your interest. At the end of the date she walks you to your apartment door, your hand tucked safely inside of hers. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest and you long to hold her close again, to feel her skin against yours again. But what if it’s different now? What if this is all your relationship will ever be, just lust, just touch. Just when you think the weight of expectation might crush you, she surprises you once again.

“I had fun tonight cutie,” Carmilla says softly, a real smile on her lips before it morphs into that dangerous smirk you’re so bewitched with. She leans closer, hands moving to cradle your face between warm, smooth palms and then her mouth is pressing against yours, solid and real and the promise of so much more to come. It’s a kiss that signals the start of a new life but she pulls back, smiling at you. “Sorry but I’m a lady, I don’t have sex on the first date,” She tells you almost smugly but her parting words of “I’ll call you when I get home, sweetheart,” almost make the tension worth it. For the first time her cutsey nicknames mean something.

She stays true to her word, she calls you later that evening and it’s so easy, so natural between you, you can’t help but wonder if you had known each other in a different life. She can be brash and rude at times, teasing to the point of infuriation, but you can be mean and demanding but yet despite both of your faults you communicate and that seems to make all the difference.

You don’t sleep together until your official one-month anniversary. In some ways waiting has been the most difficult aspect of your new relationship, but you’ve been intimate before, you’ve both seen each other through some amazing climaxes. The most important thing now is the realization that when you do move your relationship from emotional intimacy to the physical side you won’t just be having sex, you’ll be _making love_ to Carmilla and that’s why you’re glad you’ve both waited.

You’re ready to give her everything, not just trust, not just your body. Your therapy sessions with JP have been going really well and you’ve been offered a permanent position with the newspaper your write for. Your blog continues to expand and you’ve restored the relationships that were strained with your friends. For the first time since you left the military they stop looking at you like you’re walking wounded.

On the day of your one-month anniversary, one month from the day you had your first date, which was a good week after the coffee shop showdown, you invite Carmilla to a dance organized by the local Veterans Affairs. You normally avoid these kinds of events, but your blog has been nominated for an award for “most inspirational blog”. You’d have preferred to skip it, but the thought of dancing with Carmilla and being held in her arms makes you almost giddy. So you dress in your nicest pair of black slacks and a grey silk blouse and drive to Carmilla’s apartment.

She greets you at the door wearing an eye popping slinky black dress and you swear for one heart stopping second you’re actually drooling. She looks good, better than good, beautiful, gorgeous and she’s all yours and you’re hers. Looking at her gathering together a coat and her keys you think for the first time you can see the positives in the negatives. You miss Betty with an ache that’ll never go away, you still suffer from the guilt of surviving when so many of your comrades didn’t and your body will never be the same but those experiences have shaped you, made you into the person that you are today. Without it you’d never have met Carmilla, you’d never have believed in yourself again.

“Hey,” you say, the simple word pulling her attention to you, her look of surprise morphing into concern before it softens completely and you know the stupid dopey grin on her face is completely mirrored by the one on yours.

“Hey,” she replies, crossing the room to kiss you, embrace you, make you feel like a giant capable of anything. You take her hand and lead her into the night, and when you walk across the stage later that evening to collect your award she’s the one clapping the loudest, the one who never looks away.

The decision to return to your apartment after the event is made without a word passing between you. Silence is the order of the day as you drive home, but her fingers on your thigh as you drive and yours pressed on top of hers speaks volumes. You lead her up the stairs, through the door and onto the couch before either of you feels the need to break the quiet.

“You look so beautiful tonight,” You tell her, boldly ignoring the blush staining your cheeks or the way her dark eyes make your heart pound so hard you swear it’s going to jump out of your chest. Her smile is almost predatory, her hands sure as they caress your arms, trailing fire across your forearms and between your fingers. You’ve never wanted anyone so badly, not even your Master, because the difference between both of her personas is so vast, so different, there is no doubt in your mind right now that it is Carmilla you’re stupidly, hopelessly in love with.

She leads you to the bedroom, not that that surprises you. She’s always been more confident, more sure of what she wants and who she is. She looks at you like you’re the whole world and you need that simple reassurance that putting your heart on the line is worth the risk.

She unbuttons your shirt, slowly, frustratingly slowly, her lips pressing against each inch of bare skin as it appears. Her breath is hot, her lips two bands of fire and her hands grip your waist with purpose. The shirt falls to the floor behind you, crumpled and forgotten and so very unimportant when it’s just you and her and you’re about to make love for the first time.

You let her kiss you, to take some of the control that she needs but this isn’t a session, she is not your master nor are you hers. This will be a partnership, a collaboration, a 50/50 relationship and you’ve never been as excited or more turned on by that prospect. You stop her hands when they reach for the button on your slacks. It takes a lot of your willpower because you know just how good her fingers can make you feel.

You slip round behind her, sliding her hair to the side so you can simultaneously reach the back zipper of her dress and press kisses to the back of her neck. You return the favor of slow torture, sliding her zip down as slowly as you dare, hot, open-mouthed kisses following the path of smooth pale flesh you’re exposing. Her dress slides off her hips and lands around her feet, leaving her clad in only a lacy black thong and you can’t help yourself any longer. You step forward pressing yourself against her back, your bra covered breasts flattened against her shoulder blades. You slip your hands around her waist, fingers tight on supple curves and lean muscle.

She leans her head back onto your shoulder and you accept the open invitation she gives. Your tongue and your lips and your teeth worshiping a beautiful neck, loving the way she sighs and her muscles ripple with pleasure as you do. You urge her forward closer to the bed, moving her to lie down, her dark eyes watching you, her hair spilled across your pillows. Your mouth is dry, your heart a staccato beat in your chest and your underwear are completely ruined at this point. But you don’t care about any of that. Carmilla lies waiting for you and not because she ordered it but because you both have mutually agreed to take your relationship to this point.

You slide off your pants, opting to remain in your bra and panties for a little longer before you kneel on the bed, Carmilla’s thighs settling either side of you. She’s so warm, burning just as you are, her skin flushed and her chest rapidly expanding all for you. You lean in to her, relishing the feel of her hard nipples and firm breasts teasing your skin. You kiss her, you bridge the gap, you let your lips dictate the pace between you and for the first time since you’ve met her she’s content to let you lead and not just because it’s part of your therapy.

She feels so good against you, that mix of hard and softness and wet heat that makes you almost delirious. You can’t wait to taste her, to fill yourself with her essence and feel her come on your tongue. You slide one hand between your bodies slipping it into her panties, circling a very wet, throbbing clitoris. You hate the word moist but it’s so, so applicable right now and it’s all for you, because of you.

You continue speaking without the words. She cradles your face against her breast, your tongue lathing tan coloured nipples and her hips writhe against your own. Carmilla unclasps your bra, fingers cupping your breasts, squeezing them and rolling them just the way you like. You press your moans against her throat, loving the way it convulses furiously beneath your tongue, your hand once more between her legs.

You slide your way down her body, peeling of damp panties and hooking her thighs over your shoulders. You move your hands over her stomach to reach her breasts, you’re fascinated by how incredible she looks and how pliant to your touch she is. You nuzzle your nose against her inner thigh smiling as she practically squeaks her delight. You like this Carmilla, one without restraint, one who doesn't have to play a part. She can just be her.

You swipe your tongue between her labia, moving from her dripping core up to her aching clit, sucking it between your lips as best you can, holding her hips down as she bucks against you. It doesn't take long, normally she’s so much more controlled than this but the emotion of the occasion is hitting her just as hard as it’s hitting you and after only a few minutes of licking and sucking and coating your tongue with her taste she’s throwing her head back, your name squeezing between swollen lips as she comes against your face.

You can only watch in surprised delight as her whole body shudders and twists through the climax. When she finally gets her breath back her dark eyes are as light as you’ve ever seen them and they’re wet with tears she’d deny shedding. You climb back up the bed to her, pressing your mouth against hers with sloppy kisses of affection because you’re still wired tight, getting her off has tripled your libido but her vulnerability makes you breathless. You hold her close, her lips against your throat as she struggles to get herself together. You whisper that it’s okay, that you’ve got her, and the strength in her arms as she clutches you to her tells you she knows.

“It’s never been this way, you make me feel alive,” you’re not even sure she’s speaking until her chest is vibrating against yours but her words strike you straight in the heart like the proverbial cupids arrow and you know exactly how she feels. But before you can reply she’s sitting up, pulling you with her.

She directs you to wrap your legs around her waist, her legs beneath your ass, your hot center pressing against her stomach. Her deceptively strong arms hold you close and her eyes never leave yours. Even when she leans in to kiss you, every time you both pull back for air she’s watching you like you’re some magical apparition that will disappear if she looks away. It’s wondrously intoxicating.

She slips her hand between your bodies and you’re not even aware that she’s somehow removed your boy shorts and now your arousal is sliding across you both. You don’t have any time to be embarrassed at just how wet you are because her lips are attacking your neck with desperate fervor and she’s pressing two fingers inside of your tight core. You gasp and groan and sigh against her, your hips lost in an endless dance and that’s how you finally come, wrapped in her arms, riding her fingers with a hungry eagerness.

She holds you close after you’re both finished, your head on her chest, your leg draped between hers. It feels good to hold her, be held by her knowing that it doesn't have to end this time, that this isn’t just a job to her. You both fall asleep safe in the knowledge that you’re both singing from the same sheet and everything is finally right in the world.

In the morning you wake before her, you watch her sleep and you secretly wonder if your heart will burst with pleasure and the warmth of her love. When she finally wakes, she smiles before she opens her eyes, stretching her lithe body against yours before kissing you with soft lips, morning breath be damned. She opens her mouth to speak, stuttering over your name and being more adorable and vulnerable than you’ve ever seen her be and it’s reassuring to know that she’s just as human as you.

You know in that moment what she’s going to say and for the first time since this all started and you met her and fell down the rabbit hole for her you realize that you don’t need to hear it. You cut her off again with a kiss and your mouths fit even when they’re both smiling.

“I know,” You breathe against her, whispering the words and feeling her shudder in anticipation. “I do to.”

You don't need to say the words because the silence says it for you, and silence has never looked as good on you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you have it folks, our two intrepid heroes are galloping of into the sunset to live happily ever after. Once again I want to thank you all for sticking with this story, for saying so many nice things and for really getting behind the concepts and themes presented throughout. I want to say an extra special thanks to my friends [brixpierce](http://brixpierce.tumblr.com), [lizardwriter](http://lizardwriter.tumblr.com) and [kasadilla11](http://kasadilla11.tumblr.com) for their support. I also want to give a huge bucket of gratitude to my phenomenal beta [flyleaftwin](http://flyleaftwin.tumblr.com) who has been ever so patient with me *cough*. 
> 
> Feel free to head on over to my tumblr [badaax](http://badaax.tumblr.com), I'm always in the mood to talk to new folks, informed consent is a must before any experimentation can happen. Sorry apparently the scientist in me just had a LaF moment. 
> 
> Anyway, I wish you all have a very Happy New Year and I leave you with the knowledge that I will be back in 2016 with some brand new stories. Yes, stories. As in more than one, who knows what I'm letting myself in for. Fingers also crossed for Carmilla season 3 and much Hollstein. Have an awesome day!


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